^.: 




Class 

Book 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 
OF THE SOUTH 



Tl^^^ 



■ a ^^ o 




In Southern Florida 



HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS 



OF THE SOUTH 





WRITTEN AND 
ILLUSTRATED BY 

CLIFTON JOHNSON 





Published by THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Neiv York MCMIV 

LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED 



Copyright, igo./, 

by The Macinillan Company. 



Set up and electrotyped. 
Published October, 1904. 



f\>m .^nntw> 7pr»iv»>rt 

OCT ii^■ 1904 
loovrleht Emrv 

CLASS ex. yXo. No 
/ 






Electrotyped 

and 

Printed 

at the 

Norwood Press, 

Norwood, Mass, 



A CONSIDERABLE portioil of 

the material included in this 
volume was first published 
in Outifig, The Book/overs 
Magazine, The Pilgrim, 
Womaii' s Hwn\ Companion, 
The Boston' transcript. The 
Springfield Republican, The 
Interior, and in The Outlook. 



Contents 



I. Spring on the Florida Coast . 

II. Way down upon the Suvvanee River 

III. A County-seat in Alabama 

IV. Among the Georgia Crackers 
V. In the Tennessee Mountains 

VI. The Birthplace of Lincoln 

VII. A Glimpse of Kentucky Blue Grass 

VIII. On the Banks of the Ohio 

IX. A Virginia Wonder 

X. The Battlefield of Bull Run 

XI. John Brown's Town 

XII. In Cotton Harvest Time 

XIII. A Quest for Tar . 

XIV. Round about Old Jamestown 
XV. The Niggers 



Page 
I 

29 

75 
96 

121 

147' 

174 
191 
2 10 
228 
244 
265 
290 

3'3 

330 



List of Illustrations 



In Southern Florida 

A Well . . . . 

Ancient Spanish Gateway at St. Augustine 

Palmettoes on the Indian River . 

A Characteristic Landscape 

A Colored Truck Farmer . 

A Planter ready to start for Market 

On the Borders of the Everglades 

An Indian Dugout . 

Seminole Indians from the Everglades 

Grubbing up Palmetto Scrub 

Picking Oranges 

Washing in the Yard 

A Successful Search for Eggs 

Water from the Village Pump . 

The Colored People's Schoolhouse 

The Jew's-harp 

The Bell-ringers 

A Drink from the Suwanee 



Frontispiece 



y 



Facing 
Facing 



Facing 



Page 
I 

3 

5 

7 

1 1 

15 
i8 

19 

21^ 

24' 

26 

29 

35 

39 

43 

49 

56" 

63 



List of Illustrations 



Mosquitoes 

The Court-house Front 

A Favorite Loitering Place 

Quiet on the Town Street 

A Typical Old-time Mansion 

Repairing a Chair . 

A Discussion 

Keeping the Grass out of the Cemetery 

The Negro Cemetery 

An Improvised Hothouse 

A Country Mule hitched on a Town Street 

At Home 

A Schoolroom Corner 

A Country Store 

Bee Gums 

A Foot-bridge 

Working in the Garden 

Hickory Whistles . 

Neighbors 

Returning from the Hen-house . 

A Drink at the Spring 

An Old-time Tavern 

A Mountain Mill . 

In an Upland Corn-field 

Evening on the Porch 

Dipping SnufF 

An Inhabitant of the Mountains 



Page 

Facing 70 

75 
77 

79 
82 

84 
86- 



Facing 



Facing 



91 
92 

95 
96 



Facing 100 J 
104 
107 
1 10 

Facing i i 2 v 

115 
119 
121 
I 22 
125 
128 

131 

Facing 134 -< 
Facing 138^ 



List of Illustrations 



XI 



Ploughing among the Girdled Chestnuts 

Pioneer Homemakers 

A Woodland Schoolhouse 

The Entrance to the Mammoth Cave 

Hodgensville . 

The Site of the Lincoln Cabin 

A Paiil of Water from the Lincoln Spring 

The Fisherman 

A Wounded Crow . 

On the Highway 

Weeding a Tobacco Bed 

A Blue-grass Mansion 

An Old Toll-gate House on the Pike 

A Country Storekeeper 

Rubbing down a Trotter 

A Village Scene 

At the Back Door 

An Onion Patch 

A Ferry Steamer 

Corn-meal Day 

Some Farm Buildings 

Going Home from the Spring 

A Riverside Team . 

A Schoolgirl at Home 

Rafts on a Tributary 

The Natural Bridge 

Planting Watermelons 



Fiici?ig 



Facing 
Facing 

Facing 
Facing 
Facing 

Facing 



Page 

141 
[42/ 

45 

'47 

54 

56 

59 

.64/ 
.69 

70 •^ 

74 
.76 

78 
;8o V 

83 

84 

89-' 
[91 
192 
195^ 
,96 
.98 
203 
206 ' 
209 
210 
213 



Xll 



List of Illustrations 



A Spring-house 

A Farmer's Boy 

A Load of Logs 

A Sunny Afternoon ..... Facing 

Splitting out Shingles from an Oak 

A Home Gateway . 

Companions ....... Facing 

Stone Bridge over Bull Run 

A Huckster's Team on the Way to Washington 

The Spot where Stonewall Jackson was Wounded 

On the Battle-field . 

Feeding the Calf 

A Pitcher of Milk Facing 

A Ford 

A Negro's Woodpile ..... Facing 

A Doorstep Maid . 

An Old Mill 

A Question . 

A Chat on the Road ..... Facing 

A Hillside Highway 

Some Fun in a Boat 

The Church Brown attended 

The Meeting of the Shenandoah and Potomac 

Beside the Potomac ..... Facing 

October in South Carolina 

An Ox in Harness . 

The Plantation Porch 



List of Illustrations 



Xlll 



A Rice Mill . 

Digging Peanuts 

Old-time Plantation Quarters 

A Live-oak draped with Moss 

Coining Home from the Post-offi 

A Pause on the Road 

An Advertisement . 

Dipping Tar into a Barrel 

The Burning Tar-kiln 

The Tar-burner's Camp 

On a Trail . 

At the Back Door . 

The Home Woodpile 

Garden Peppers 

The Tower of Jamestown Church 

Yorktown Street 

The Spot where Cornwallis surrenderC' 

The Beach at Yorktown 

Stacking Cornstalks 

A Rider 

On the Road Home 

The James River opposite the Old Settlemc 

A Dwelling . 

A Cotton Picker at his Cabin Well 

An Inventor and his Street Car 

Weighing the Day's Picking 

Watering the Plants 



Facifig 



Facing 



Facing 
Facing 



Facing 



Facing 



Facing 



Facing 



Page 

274 

276 

279 

281 

285 / 

287 

290 

297 

298 ; 

305 

307 ' 

309 

311 

313 

315 

317 

318 ; 
320 

323 
325^ 
329 
330 

333 '^ 
338 
342 
3+6/ 



/ 



XIV 



List of Illustrations 



Reading 

A Squirrel in Sight . 
A Campmeeting Building 
A Negro Schoolhouse 
A Farm Cart 



Facing 



Page 

349 

357 

3 59 
361 



Introductory Note 

In writing the present volume I have simply 
attempted to give a faithful record of impressions in 
a region where life probably has a more picturesque 
interest than anywhere else in our country. I, how- 
ever, scarcely touch on the town life, or the progress 
of manufacturing ; nor do I deal with the South as 
a land of romance and sentiment, the home of beau- 
tiful women and chivalric men — that has been amply 
done by the novelists. My rambling has been in the 
fields and woodlands, my stopping-places in the little 
villages and scattered farmhouses, and I write almost 
wholly of rustic life and nature as I saw them in my 
desultory journeyings. 

Clifton Johnson. 
Hadley, Mass. 



Highways and Byways of the 
South 



SPRING ON THE FLORIDA COAST 




A Well 



IN the North, though the 
winter frosts had relaxed 
their fiercer rigors, the 
weather was still raw and cold, 
the woodlands were wholly 
leafless, and the fields sear 
and brown. But when I 
sailed three days from New 
York southward I found 
myself amid blossoms and 
abounding green foliage, and 
the air was full of kindly 
warmth. How delightful it 
all was ! — as if I had by 
some magic skipped entirely 
the chilly uncertainty of spring 
and entered at once into the 
serenity of early summer. 
I 



1 Highways and Byways of the South 

Yet I cannot say that Florida on closer acquaintance 
seemed quite worthy of its name ; for if you would 
have a profusion of flowers, you must nurse and coax 
them. They are not such a spontaneous product of 
the climate as one would expect. The soil is too poor, 
and nowhere did the blossoms brighten and gladden 
the earth as our spring flowers do in the North. 
Indeed, the aspect of the country is for the most part 
rather monotonously sober — an unending, sandy level 
overspread with pine woods, and a low, spiny under- 
growth of palmetto scrub. 

After leaving Jacksonville, where I had disembarked, 
I first of all visited St. Augustine, and saw its ancient 
fort and massive city gateway. The fort is of genuine 
mediaeval type, the only one of its kind in America. 
Its gray, weatherworn stones proclaim its great age, the 
rooms are satisfactorily gloomy and dungeon-like, and 
you can trace the course of the old moat round about. 
Both the fort and the gateway date back to the time 
when St. Augustine was a Spanish walled town. The 
place itself has one or two curious narrow thorough- 
fares and odd survivals of bygone architecture, but its 
prevailing characteristics are those of a fashionable 
pleasure resort. All the open fields on the outskirts 
have been taken possession of by the golf-players. 
Once, when I had stopped to watch a game, an old 
colored man came along and leaned over the picket 
fence near me. 



spring on the Florida Coast 3 

" I want to see what they gwine do," he said. 
" Good gracious alive ! see whar that tall man sen' 




Ancient Spanish Gateway at St. Augusunc 

that thar liT ball. Well, I do say ! Now he gwine 
see if he c'n find it. Yes, sah, when they done knock 



4 Highways and Byways of the South 

the ball once they foller it an' knocks it some mo'. 
I look at that game as much as one hundred time, an' 
I never make out whar de fun come in. I ain' never 
play it myself, sah ; an' yet I got no objection to it 
if thar ain' no betting. That my remonstrance to 
cairds. If yo' play cairds, yo're boun' to bet, an' 
sooner or later yo're boun' to run up against one o' 
those yere men what can play any caird they wants to, 
an' then yo' lose your money. Cairds ain' a good 
thing — no, sah — an' I lets 'em alone. But I've seen 
cairds played. I've been up all night mixin' the drinks 
for white gemmen, an' seein' 'em play until six or 
eight o'clock in the mornin' — yes, sah ! " 

From St. Augustine I journeyed down the coast as 
far as Miami, and in all this long distance the portion 
I enjoyed most was where the railway skirted close 
along the shores of the Indian River — not really a 
river at all, but a narrow strip of the ocean shut off 
from the open sea by a series of islands that extend 
parallel with the mainland for hundreds of miles. On 
the shores here I caught frequent glimpses of long- 
legged cranes wading in the shallows, and they gave a 
touch of undisturbed wildness to the scene that was 
very pleasing. A bird much more in evidence was the 
buzzard. I constantly saw them when I looked from 
the car window, soaring on their airy vigils. If there 
was a prospect of a feast, they would sometimes con- 
gregate in hundreds. Word seemed to be promptly 



Spring on the Florida Coast 




Palmettoes on the Indian River 

passed around whenever one of them found anything 
bad to eat, and all the friends and relatives were sure 
to be on hand, including a delegation of crows. 

To a very great extent the railroad was hemmed 
in on either side by pine and palmetto forest. Pines 



6 Highways and Byways of the South 

were the predominant trees — tall, slender, and smooth 
columned ; but in places there were many palmettoes. 
The latter are the only trees of the palm flimily that 
are indigenous to the country, and while not accounted 
of much value they are by no means entirely useless. 
The trunks are occasionally cut into lengths for fence 
posts, and have sometimes been set up for telegraph 
poles, and they make specially good wharf piles, as the 
borers do not attack them as they do most woods. The 
tree's vitality is concentrated in the heart of the crown- 
ing bunch of leaves. Even flames that scorch ofl-' the 
leafage and burn the trunk half through are only a tem- 
porary set-back. If the central bud is not injured, the 
tree will endure almost anything. The soft enfold- 
ings of new leaves that surround this bud somewhat 
resemble a cabbage in quality, whence comes one of the 
tree's names — cabbage palm. Now and then there 
are natives who eat the palmetto cabbage, and they 
declare it to be very palatable. 

Miami is at the extreme end of the railway line, well 
down toward the point of the peninsula. I found the 
place laid out in right-angled streets on a grand scale ; 
and long, straight avenues were cut through the sub- 
urban forests for miles around, that the community 
might grow to an enormous metropolis if fate so wills. 
However, very little had been built thus far, and the 
untamed woodland straggled into the very heart of the 
hamlet. Where the soil was poor, the trees were pines. 



Spring on the Florida Coast 7 

They grew so scatteringly you could see for a mile or 
more among their slender stems, and you seemed to be 
in a monotonous park, cleared of much of its timber 




A Characteristic Landscape 

and of all the brush save the lowly palmetto scrub. In 
the hollows were intervals of dark rich earth, known 
as " hammock land," that supported a dense growth 



8 Highways and Byways of the South 

of banyans, rubber trees, oaks, and other hardwoods. 
The crowded trees and bushes of the hammock lands 
were draped with innumerable vines, and formed real 
equatorial jungles. One of these thickets had formerly 
covered a part of the site of the town, and I was told 
by the first settlers of a half-dozen years before that 
they could only get through it by crawling on their 
hands and knees. Most of the soil in and about 
Miami is so thin as to be scarcely apparent, and the 
chalky rock which makes the main substance of the 
earth is almost bare. This rock is much used for road- 
making, and the local highways are commendably 
hard and smooth, but very glaring in the intense 
Southern sunshine. 

One of my walks took me to Cocoanut Grove, a vil- 
lage of about twenty houses, six miles down the coast. 
The buildings were scattered along on a low slope just 
back from the shore of the sea — slight frame structures 
that had sometime been painted and that needed paint- 
ing again. They were not beautiful, and they were not 
picturesque, for they were neither snug and domestic 
nor interestingly dilapidated. However, it was a delight 
to see the varied Southern fruits to be found in their 
orchards and gardens. Strawberries and early vege- 
tables were already maturing ; here and there were 
clumps of banana plants ; and orange, lemon, lime, and 
olive trees abounded. Many of these trees had ripe 
fruit hanging on them, and I ate one of the oranges 



Spring on the Florida Coast 9 

plucked fresh from the bough on which it grew. How 
solid and juicy and delicious it was ! A few of the later 
orange trees were full of odorous white blossoms, but 
on most of them the green new fruit was well formed, 
and there was often ripe fruit on the same trees. 
Near the shore was a scattering of palms, — cocoanut 
palms, date palms, and royal palms, — and in one spot 
grew a bunch of slender, rattling bamboos, probably 
fifty feet high. Yet all these tropical growths are im- 
portations, and you do not find them except in the 
neighborhood of habitations. 

I saw and heard a good deal of the birds, and there 
were numerous butterflies and other insects. Some- 
times I would happen on a little brown chameleon, and 
once I surprised a snake in the roadway — a small, 
green snake, so graceful and so delicately tinted it 
seemed the work of a master jeweller. In the pine 
woods the Bob Whites were calling, and occasionally 
several of them would start up at the sound of my 
footsteps and go skittering away with their noisy wings 
in great fright. It was evening by the time I returned 
to Miami, and the whippoorwills were crying about the 
village borders, and the thin cimeter of the new moon 
hung on the western horizon. A man I overtook, and 
in whose company I continued for a time, called my 
attention to the fact that the moon lay exactly level 
and one horn was as high as the other. He said 
according to the Indians this level moon meant rain. 



lo Highways and Byways of the South 

They believe it holds water in that position, which 
will have to come out. But if the basin of the 
moon is tipped up sufficiently to allow its contents 
to escape, then it is of course empty, and the weather 
will be dry, 

I had been somewhat disturbed on my walk by 
sociably inclined mosquitoes, and would have been 
troubled far more had it not been for multitudes of 
dragon-flies, or mosquito-hawks, as they are called in 
Florida, which were constantly darting about and doing 
their best to devour the pests. So many dragon-flies 
were engaged in this savage industry I concluded they 
must keep the mosquitoes pretty well subdued, and 
was quite ready to accept my landlord's statement that 
very few mosquitoes ever invaded Miami. But one 
of the men sitting in the hotel office overheard the 
landlord, and said sarcastically: " No, they're a curiosity 
in Miami. You'll find plenty of 'em, though, in the 
next town up the coast and the next town below." 

" That's so," added another man. " It's the same 
all over Florida — whatever place you go to the 
people '11 swear they don't have any mosquitoes there ; 
yet they'll acknowledge to their being all around." 

" Fve been driving sometimes," said the first man, 
" and in the swampy places the mosquitoes would light 
so thick on my horse you couldn't 'a' told what color 
it was; and Fve been at farm-houses to dinner where 
there'd be so much of a smudge made to drive the 



Spring on the Florida Coast ii 

mosquitoes out that I couldn't see the persons sitting 
across the table from me. I don't know what we'd 
do without smudges during August and September." 

" How do you make a smudge ? " I asked. 

"It's easy done," was the reply. "You only need 
to set fire to some rags that you have sprinkled with 
a little water so they'll burn slow. There's times 
when you'll see the nigger wenches washing clothes in 




A Colored Truck Farmer 



12 Highways and Byways of the South 

the yards and a Hne of smudge around 'em on the 
ground." 

" I've heard," remarked the second man, " that over 
on the islands they have to put overalls on their mules 
to protect 'em from the mosquitoes." 

" Those islands are terrible places for mosquitoes," 
affirmed the landlord. " I've known the farmers there 
to bring their hogs and chickens over to the mainland 
to keep the mosquitoes from killing 'em ; and when a 
gang of men is at work there, setting out pineapples, 
one man '11 walk along to windward carryin' a smudge." 

Another member of the company took up the sub- 
ject and remarked : " I had some experience in a place 
I was stopping at one time. The mosquitoes were 
bound to follow a person everywhere, and I had a nigger 
along with me, and when I was goin' in to the hotel, he'd 
take a palmetto leaf and whisk 'em all off. Then he'd 
say, ' Ready ! ' and throw open the door and shout, 
'Jump! ' and in I'd go, and he'd slam the door after 
me. Same way about goin' to bed. The bed had a 
canopy netting over it, and when I was all fixed, my 
nigger'd brush me off" and say, ' Ready — jump !' and 
I'd pop under the mosquito bars as lively as I could, so 
as not to give the mosquitoes any chance to follow me." 

" Don't be afraid to tell the whole truth while you 
are about it, gentlemen," said a man who had come in 
a few minutes previous. " Now I've had my cham- 
ber windows so covered with mosquitoes that not a ray 



Spring on the Florida Coast 13 

of light could get in, and, as a result, I've slept through 
three days, thinking all the time it was night." 

" I suppose every creature has a use," observed the 
landlord in conclusion, "but Heaven only knows what 
mosquitoes were made for." 

The most interesting of my excursions while at 
Miami was one up the river of the same name to the 
Everglades. The distance was only four miles, and 
there were boatmen who made a business of rowing 
those who wished to see the glades up and back at so 
much an hour. I fell into the hands of a navigator 
named Holt. He recommended himself to me by 
declaring that he was not like his competitors. " The 
other fellers will say they make the trip an' get back in 
an hour or two, but they can't do it. They want you 
think it will not cost much, so you give 'em the job ; 
an' then they do all they can to make the time long. 
I ain't been here but little while, and I tell the trut'; and 
so the others, they don't like me much. You have to 
look out aroun' these parts. Your best frien' '11 cheat 
you in Miami; an' I reckon the rest of the Florida 
people will do about the same. I tell you they are 
sharp — sharp as a brier. Every man got a scheme to 
work off on outsiders, an' there mo' money sunk in 
this state than in any other state in the Union." 

The Miami is a small tide-water stream, slow flowing 
and deep. The shores were, for the most part, lined 
with a thicket of mangrove trees, or rather bushes ; 



14 Highways and Byways of the South 

for they grew broad instead of high, and their tangled 
branches had nearly as many pendent roots as they 
had twigs. At frequent intervals along the banks 
were posted signs — cheap, thin boards, each proclaim- 
ing that, 

" Billings's shoes are silent salesmen." 

One could not help feeling that Billings merited 
severe and summary punishment for profaning nature 
on this quiet waterway with such an array of noisy signs 
about his silent shoes. 

Back of the fringe of mangroves was forest, with an 
occasional opening where some settler had started a farm. 
Opposite each farm would be a wharf and a boat or 
two, and the river was evidently the chief highway of 
the dwellers on its shores. I came along just in time 
to see one farmer finish loading his boat with produce 
to take down to the town. He had potatoes, cab- 
bages, poultry and eggs, tomatoes and several bunches 
of bananas ; and the boat sank almost to the gunwales. 
He was a bushy-bearded, long-haired, half-wild-looking 
individual, but his conversation was marked by intel- 
ligence, and even a touch of culture. I mentioned this 
to Holt when we had left the pioneer behind. "Yes," 
said my boatman, " but you can find better talkers than 
he is here. You ought to go over to the next farm 
across the river. The man there — he talks like a 
minister — he got just that slang, you know. My talk 



Spring on the Florida Coast 



15 



is not good. I been a sailor many years, and the sailors 
on a ship, they are men of all nations piled together, 
an' pretty rough, an' they great cursers. I got so use' 




A Plainer rcad\' to start for Market 

to their talk I couldn't do nothing for long time but 
curse same like they did. That didn't suit me. I am 
a philosopher, an' my feelin's are delicate ; an' I got 
thinkin' of it mo' an' mo', an' 1 stopped." 



1 6 Highways and Byways of the South 

My philosophic and delicate companion pulled along 
upstream in silence for a while, and then he gave me 
his views with regard to the " niggers." 

" 1 have no use for 'em," said he. " They're treach- 
erous. If a white man got five cents, and the niggers 
have a good chance, they murder him for it. Yes, if 
they get a poor white man alone, they murder him for 
his clothes. They come to your face fine as can be, but 
you turn your back an' they cut your throat ; though, 
of co'se, there's some are all right. I got heap of good 
idea, I've knocked about so long, an' 1 keep away from 
niggers. They have a nachul stink, you know ; and if 
you stay with 'em all the time it apt to drive you crazy. 
They smell so bad you throw up your heart. Did 
you ever hear what Billy Bowlegs, the big chief of the 
Seminoles, says about niggers ? He says God first 
made the Injun, then He made the white man, then 
He made the Injun's dog, and then He made the nig- 
ger ; and I think that about the way of it. You laugh 
because he put their dog before the nigger, but an 
Injun dog ain't like common dogs. Their dogs know 
something an' can be trusted. Let me tell you. There 
was an Injun, not long ago, come to Miami, and he 
left his dog to take care of his things down by the 
shore of the river while he was in the town two days 
drunk. It was just a common yaller dog. I was with 
the Injun when he went back to where the dog was; 
an' the dog was half starved, but it hadn't touched a 



Spring on the Florida Coast 17 

thing, though there was crackers and meat within easy 
reach." 

The day was one of warm and windless quiet. I 
could see fishes swimming lazily in the water ; once a 
porpoise made a playful leap close beside the boat ; 
there were mud-turtles sunning themselves on snags 
by the banks, and they would lift up inquisitive heads 
at our approach and slide off with a gentle plunk into 
the stream, out of sight. Grasshoppers and locusts were 
humming and birds were singing. The most notice- 
able songsters were the mocking-birds. " That's them," 
said Holt. " I can tell 'em because they sing so many 
different tunes. You be thinkin' they got all kind of 
birds' warble." 

The stream narrowed as we went on until it became 
scarcely wide enough for Holt to use his oars. Finally 
we came to rapids where the water foamed in noisy 
shallows down a rough rocky channel. We got out, 
and Holt took off his shoes, rolled up his trousers, 
and thus accoutred, sometimes on shore, sometimes 
wading, he tugged the boat up the incline. The rise 
was short, for the Everglades are only about a score of 
feet above the sea-level. Soon we came out on the 
marshes. They spread away in a broad, sedge-grown 
level, broken here and there with wooded knolls and 
threaded with slender streams. We could have gone 
on a hundred miles and more and found nothing dif- 
ferent. This immense tract of swamp has numerous 



i8 



Highways and Byways of the South 



outlets on both sides of the peninsula, but they only 
carry ofF enough water to keep the shallow basin from 
becoming a lake. A project is broached for draining 
the Everglades of their surplus moisture by blasting 
the channels of the outlets deeper. Then the reclaimed 
land would be sold for farm purposes. 

On the scattered swamp islands some hundreds of 
Seminole Indians make their homes. " They been 




On the Borders ol the Everglades 

told so much lie," Holt explained, " that they ain't 
likin' the white man very well any mo', and they keep 
away by theirselves in the Glades." 



Spring on the Florida Coast 



19 



The Indians often visit Miami ; and after I returned 
to the town, while I was still on the banks of the 




An Indian Dugout 

river, I saw two of their canoes coming down the 
stream with two men in each. The canoes were dug- 
outs, yet they were symmetrically and neatly fashioned, 
and were much better craft than I would have expected. 
Ordinarily they were propelled by poling, but the poles 
had a slight paddle blade on one end that could be 
used when necessary. 

Holt had assured me that, "The Indians wear any- 
thing at all — they don't care what, if it is only fancy." 



20 Highways and Byways of the South 

He was right. I never had seen human creatures more 
grotesque. Their brown legs and shanks were entirely 
bare, except for the flaps of their shirts ; but their 
upper persons were considerably adorned. They had 
neckerchiefs and watch chains, and one wore a soldier's 
coat with brass buttons, while a comrade had the vest 
to match. Two had derby hats, one a straw hat, one 
a cap. The motley array of these children of the 
forest seemed to suggest that they had made way with 
a party of white enemies and divided the spoils. 

They spent the rest of the day in town talking with 
the chaffing inhabitants, buying a few supplies, and 
perambulating about among the saloons. Finally they 
tottered down to the river, and in the palmetto scrub 
under the pines, made a fire and cooked some food. 
I tried to talk with them there, but they had few 
English words at command, and the interview was not 
very satisfactory. Their eyes were bloodshot with 
liquor, and the eldest of them lost his balance and 
keeled over into the brush. He lay for a while in 
drunken stupor, and then sat up with his head on his 
breast. The others, after eating, started for the village 
to secure another dram, but pretty soon one of them 
came running back and began calling to the seated 
Indian : " My frien' ! Come here, come here ! " 

Not getting any response he went and helped his 
companion to his feet, and supported him on his way 
to the town. They were a melancholy spectacle. 




Seminole Indians from the Everglades 



Spring on the Florida Coast 21 

When such parties of Indians come to the towns of 
the whites one of their number always stays reasonably 
sober to guard their interests ; but as their visits usually 
extend over several days, and the Indians take turns in 
doing guard duty, every brave has a chance " to get 
beastly drunk and have a big time." At Miami they 
were said to have a special liking for an illicit brandy, 
the vigor of which was attested by its having received 
the title of " Chain lightning " ; but as a rule their 
favorite liquors are corn or rye whiskey. They do not 
care for anything milder. 

Whatever their failings, the Indians are absolutely 
trustworthy. " Sometimes an Injun will come into 
the hotel here," my landlord informed me, " and he 
says, ' Me hungry. Money, me no got 'im ' ; and he 
wants a dinner, and promises to pay in a certain number 
of moons. I may forget all about it, but the Injun 
don't. When the time comes, he pays. The only 
dishonest Injun I ever heard of was one that stole 
two hens from another Injun and swapped 'em for 
liquor ; but he was found out, and he had to be the 
slave of the one he stole from for about half a year. 

" They cultivate little patches of land on the Ever- 
glade knolls and raise corn and pumpkins and such 
things. When the corn gets ripe enough to eat, they 
have a green corn dance that lasts a whole day and 
night. Some Injuns have houses eight or ten feet 
square made of boards; but most have just palmetto 



22 Highways and Byways of the South 

shacks — huts shaped like a tent with a pole frame- 
work that is thatched with palmetto leaves. They like 
to move to new quarters often, and every time one of 
'em does that he takes the whole shootin' ranch with 
him — pigs, chickens, and all. They bring a part of the 
things they raise to the towns and dispose of 'em ; but 
they have good guns, and they get much more money 
out of their hunting than they do out of their farm 
produce. Alligator and other hides fetch 'em the most, 
and they sell some venison and the feathers of the pink 
curlew, bittern, and heron. You'd be surprised to see 
the things they buy. Some of 'em invest in sewing- 
machines. They have quite a likin' for railroad con- 
ductor's caps, and they get the storekeepers to order 
'em, and they are particular to have the word con- 
ductor on, and the gilt bands. 

" They are very peaceful among themselves and 
with the whites, too. I know one of 'em came to my 
house before I kep' a hotel, and my wife was there 
alone. He had a little whiskey in him, and was boun' 
to talk, and she was kind of afraid of him. She was 
washin' clothes, and some of 'em was boilin' in the 
kittle. By and by she picked up a stick to lift out the 
clothes from the boilin' water and the Injun thought 
she was goin' to hit him, and he said, ' Oh, me go ! ' 
and he went. That was Charlie Cypress. They're 
all gettin' to have white names that they fix up for 
themselves — like Charlie Cypress and John Doctor 



Spring on the Florida Coast 23 

and Billy Stuart. Billy can write his name, only the 
way he writes it is ' Mr. Billy Mr. Stuart.' " 

On leaving Miami I journeyed nearly two hundred 
miles northward and stopped at a village in the centre 
of the orange-growing country bordering the Indian 
River. I found lodging while there in a private house. 
The yard was aglow with the bloom of roses, lilies, 
and trumpet flowers, and the greatest lack of the house 
surroundings was turf. In this land of sand and almost 
uninterrupted summer you can scarcely find a respect- 
able bit of lawn anywhere, and all the ornamental shrubs 
and the blossoms never quite succeed in banishing the 
sense of barrenness. Then, too, the dwellings,with their 
unsubstantial foundations, seem incomplete and shabbily 
constructed. Not a house in the village had a cellar. 
Some were on pillars of brick, but most on wooden 
posts or blocks. This underpinning tends to give 
way or settle as time goes on. In consequence, plaster 
room-walls would crack, and sheathing serves instead. 

The village walks were shadowed by trees, but the 
trees were not large, and the streets were hot and 
dusty. The main thoroughfare, on which my lodging- 
place fronted, was seldom busy, and most of the time 
was wholly vacant ; yet it was not as vacant as it 
would be later. " A month from now," said my land- 
lady, " when the Northern people who've been spend- 
ing the winter are all gone, the street will be like the 
cemetery out here — just so lonely." 



24 Highways and Byways of the South 

That was putting it pretty strong, for the cemetery 
was as forlorn a spot as could well be imagined. It 
was on the village outskirts, and was a waste of sand 
and brush. Several family plots had been enclosed by 
fences of henyard wire, or shaky pickets, but the 
majority of the graves were in the open. A few had 
headstones. The rest had been marked, when new- 
made, by bits of board ; but wood decays, and the lowly 
mounds had been soon effaced and their place forgot- 
ten, so that often when a fresh grave is dug some old 
coffin is encountered. My landlady started Bermuda 
grass on her plot. It, however, grew so tall and thick 
she rooted it all out and restored the plot to its origi- 
nal sand. 

In the woods beyond the cemetery grew huckleber- 
ries and the wild scuppernong grapes. The grape-vines 
were pointed out to me by a negro, who told how sweet 
and good the fruit was, and he said he had a " tame " 
scuppernong vine in his garden which produced even 
finer fruit than the wild kind. The negro homes 
formed quite a settlement huddled in a hollow beyond 
the railroad. The surroundings were unkempt and 
the houses small. I looked into one ofthem. It was 
perhaps twenty feet square — a single room without 
sheathing or ceiling. The walls were papered with 
Harper's Bazars and some great gaudy pictures from 
a Sunday-school lesson-roll. Most of the furniture 
seemed to be beds, and there was need for them. The 




Grubbinc; vi> Palmetto Scrub 



Spring on the Florida Coast 25 

family was large, and so are nearly all colored families. 
Indeed, one of the white villagers affirmed that it 
wasn't possible to count the children in the " nigger- 
town " houses — "you have to measure 'em by the 
bushel." 

The cultivated lands of the region lay on a strip 
of ridge along the coast. This ridge was only about 
a half-mile wide, and to the west it fell away into 
boggy "prairies" that were very "sour" and subject 
to floods from the St. Johns River. The orange trees 
were practically all killed off in the freeze of 1895, 
as they were everywhere in the state except at the 
extreme southern end. That was Florida's great dis- 
aster — a disaster from which it has never recovered. 
In other states you hear constant reference to the 
period " before the war," but in Florida they substitute 
the phrase " before the freeze." During the years 
immediately preceding, the orange industry had been 
greatly developed, the orchards were fast multiplying, 
and an immense amount of capital was invested. 
Then the thermometer dropped, the trees were blasted, 
and the Floridians' dreams of wealth received a doleful 
set-back. 

That same cold winter the state experienced the only 
snowstorm that has occurred within the remembrance 
of the oldest inhabitant. The snow fell to the depth 
of two inches one night in all the northern counties, 
and the people opened astonished eyes in the morning 



26 Highways and Byways of the South 

to find a white world. The negroes were particularly 
impressed, and instances are reported of colored chil- 




Picking Oranges 

dren who looked out of the window and exclaimed, 
" Somebody done scatter flour all over our front yard." 



Spring on the Florida Coast ly 

It is only in a few of the most favorably situated 
sections that orange raising has been resumed. On 
the Indian River the people were just beginning to get 
good crops again, though the trees were still small. 
Besides oranges, they grow all kinds of early vegetables, 
and my table fare was every day made attractive with 
newly maturing delicacies from the garden. I remem- 
ber once some very fine string beans were served which 
my landlady said had grown so long that when she was 
getting them ready to cook she " had to break them 
in seven or eight halves." 

My landlady had come from New York State in her 
youth, and I asked if she did not sometime intend to 
return. " No," was her response, " my husband is buried 
here, and no money could hire me to leave. This is 
an expensive place to live — why, milk is fifteen cents 
a quart, and is scarce at that, and all other rashions cost 
high, too ; but it looks like the place where everything 
is just as you'd have it is a country where nobody 
show their nose in yet. When I first come here I 
didn't s'pose I'd stay a year. There wa'n't no one 
aroun' hardly but niggers then, and they was a shift- 
less lot, and spent half their time out in the palmetto 
scrub playing cards. I didn't dare walk nowhere for 
fear they'd jump out of the scrub and take my head 
off from me. But they've improved — and the cli- 
mate can't be beat." 

All the Florida dwellers were ready to swear by 



28 Highways and Byways of the South 

their cHmate, though some would add that the state 
could boast of nothing else, and often they expressed 
surprise that any one should be tempted to come from 
other regions to settle and try to make a living. 

While I was staying in the orange district my favor- 
ite walks were along the sea. A roadway bordered by 
palmettoes and live-oaks skirted the shore, and the 
oak limbs were hung with great fluffy trailings of 
Spanish moss that swayed softly with every breeze. 
Some of these pendants were at least ten feet long. 
One of the spots that attracted me especially was a 
low point thrusting well out into the bay, on which 
grew a thick palmetto grove. I could never pass this 
grove without stopping. Its seclusion was delightful. 
The shattered wreck of a little sail-boat lay on the 
beach, and the columnar tree trunks with their tufted 
tops, and the heat and silence, were such that I could 
easily fancy myself a Robinson Crusoe castaway. 

In the vicinity of the ocean there was always a 
breeze as the day advanced, but the early morning was 
apt to be perfectly quiet, and then the glimmering 
sea was superlatively beautiful. The warm, clear sun- 
light, the mellow haze dimming the islands across the 
channel, the numerous ducks afloat on the water, the 
leaping of fish, and the bird songs of many kinds com- 
bined to give a sentiment as charmingly and languor- 
ously tropical as can be experienced anywhere on the 
mainland of our national domain. 



II 



WAY DOWN UPON THE SUWANEE RIVER 




Washing in the Yard 



I 



N that melodious 
and touching 
song of Stephen 
Foster's— "The Old 
Folks at Home" — 
which with its simple 
sweetness and the 
genuineness of its 
pathos has held such 
wide sway for more 
than a generation, we 
get the impression 
that the country bor- 
dering the Suvvanee 
is a Southern para- 
dise. Not that you 
find exactly this stated 



in the words, but the longing of the negro singer for 
his old home seems to infer as much. However, as 
there is always something of paradise in the back-look 
to a happy childhood, whatever the environment may 

29 



30 Highways and Byways of the South 

have been, I suppose it was to be expected that 1 
should find this Florida river in the reality quite dif- 
ferent from my preconceived idea of it. 

At the time 1 saw the Suwanee, in April, it was 
sullen and rapid ; it had high, wooded banks, with 
considerable palmetto scrub in the underbrush ; and 
now and then a live-oak heavily bearded with moss 
reached out over the stream. Pine forest covered 
much of the surrounding country, but this gave way 
to cypress in the swamps and to hardwoods along the 
watercourses. The river was stained with the washings 
of a recent flood. "There's high water ev'y big rain 
we have," one of the natives informed me ; " an' 1 tell 
you this hyar river's a tiger when she start a-risin'. 
Sometimes she come up a foot an hour." 

The village in which I was staying was mostly 
inhabited by negroes. It had no hotel, and occasional 
sojourners were accommodated at a Mr. Perky's, 
whose weatherworn, two-story house stood not far 
from the railway station. The house had a large yard 
enclosed by a picket fence somewhat patched and 
propped. Very little grass grew in the yard, and the 
earth was a good deal scratched up with hen holes. 
Just inside the gate on either side of the board walk 
that led up to the porch was a large cedar tree ; and 
between the cedars and the house three or four orange 
trees had been started, but the frosts had nipped them 
every few years, compelling them each time to begin 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 31 

again from the roots, so that they never got to be more 
than bushy clumps. 

The only dwelling in the hamlet that could fairly 
be called commodious and comfortable was the home 
of Mr. Tushers, the chief business man of the region, 
and owner of most of the land. Mr. Tushers had 
turpentine works and a sawmill, and he was postmaster 
and the proprietor of the one store. His house 
fronted on the main road. Nearly all the houses 
strung along this highway were occupied by whites ; 
but on the alleys and byways were rows of negro 
cabins — small, overcrowded, and shabby, compared 
with which the poorest dwellings of the whites were 
cheerful. An occasional cabin was shadowed by a china- 
berry tree, at that season full of sweet, purple bloom. 
As a rule, however, they were bare to sun and weather. 
Usually there was a tumbledown porch at the front. 
The cabins themselves were mere shells, with glassless 
window openings closed by board shutters. Inside, 
the rough studding of the walls was neither hidden 
by sheathing nor by lath and plaster, and the rooms 
were very sure to be grimy and unkempt and gloomy. 
Primitive fireplaces were still depended on for ordinary 
heating purposes, and it was the same in the homes ot 
the whites. " Only rich people " could afford to have 
stoves throughout the house, yet even the poorest of 
both races in most parts of the South contrive to have 
a little stove for cooking. 



32 Highways and Byways of the South 

Each Suwanee cabin had its accompanying garden 
patch, rudely fenced to keep the wandering hogs and 
cows from trespassing. The ground had been partially 
planted, and the collards, beans, etc., were in some 
instances ready tor hoeing. The rent for a cabin and 
garden was from two to four dollars a month. Often 
the cabin dweller rented extra ground, on which he 
would raise such crops as corn, cotton, rice, sugar-cane, 
and sweet potatoes. 

Much of the above information I gathered from 
Mr. Perky as we sat together on his " po'ch." Mr. 
Perky had been a soldier. So have practically all the 
older Southern men. But my landlord's war expe- 
riences had not been at all thrilling, or else the 
excitement was sapped from them by his drawling, 
husky-voiced telling of them. I did not gain a very 
high opinion of his patriotism. " I was in the war from 
beginnin' to eend," he said, " an' 1 use' to think some- 
times about desertin' ; but I reckoned a deserter 
wouldn't be thought much of at home. That's whar 
I was mistaken. The deserters had a chance to make 
money after they got back, and those that didn't 
desert come home pore, and so the deserters done 
showed up the best and was thought the most of." 

He seemed to be haunted by a melancholy regret 
that he had not deserted. He was a tall, lank, cadav- 
erous-featured man, and not very energetic. He liked 
to sit on his porch, and I think most Southern people 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 23 

have the same liking. It seems to be a constitutional 
or climatic necessity. At any rate, ancestral usage from 
the remote past has put on the custom the seal of its 
approval. Mr. Perky would spend the major part of 
a day on his " po'ch," with entire ease of conscience. 
For a change he might go to the store and sit on the 
" po'ch " there an hour or so, or to the railway station 
to see a train come in and depart. Train time always 
found a waiting group of loiterers on the station plat- 
form. Without the stimulus of this mild excitement 
the sluggish village life would very likely have come to 
a complete stop. It was an especial pleasure to the 
negroes. " If thar was a train through hyar every half- 
hour, the darkeys 'd be thar to see it," declared Mr. 
Perky's daughter, Nan. " They stan' thar an' look an' 
look, like they hadn't never seen a train befo'. The 
niggers aroun' hyar are curiosities, they certainly are." 

Nan was the village belle. I had caught a glimpse 
of her at the door when I first entered the gate in search 
of lodging, but she had promptly disappeared to im- 
prove her raiment. Now she had come out again to 
the porch. 

" This is a right pretty day," said she. 

I assented. 

"Is your home out North?" she inquired; but 
before I could reply she caught sight of two little 
colored boys who were passing, and called out, " Jerry ! 
Abraham ! " 



34 Highways and Byways of the South 

The boys stopped. " Yes, ma'am," they said. 

" I want yo'." 

The boys hastened into the yard, and she continued : 
" I reckon thar's some aigs under the house. Yo' go 
under and see." 

The house was set on blocks eighteen or twenty 
inches from the ground in the usual Southern way, and 
in the seclusion beneath the dwelling the hens often 
made their nests. " Maw, she go under thar sometimes 
and crawl aroun' for aigs," explained Nan, " but mostly 
we get these hyar boys to do it. That Jerry is a slick 
duck, an' he's boun' to find 'em if thar are any." 

The search to-day ended in the boys coming forth 
with their hats full. They counted up twenty-seven 
eggs from a single nest. Miss Perky carried the eggs 
into the house and returned with a plate of food left 
over from dinner, and the boys seated themselves on 
the back steps to eat it. " They'll do anything if you 
give them something to eat," she said. 

Nan's " maw " came out as the boys were finishing, 
and said she reckoned the nest they had found wasn't 
the only one on the place. That seemed quite likely, 
for the hens rambled about very much as they pleased. 
Boxes had been nailed up against the smokehouse for 
them to lay in, but they neglected those and deposited 
their eggs beneath the buildings, or in the crotches of 
a big tree in the back yard, or even in the house rooms, 
and one hen liked to lay up under the roof of the back 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 2S 

porch where some missing sheathing boards of the 
ceiHng gave access to several dark crannies. 

" Abraham," said Mrs. Perky, " yo' go to the sta- 
tion and ask the station-master will he please bring his 
little ladder and look if there are any aigs over the 
po'ch hyar, if he can spare the time." 

The station-master soon appeared with his little 
ladder, made a leisurely search, and went back to his 
work. Mrs. Perky had meanwhile set the colored 
boys to chopping wood. The supply ready for burn- 




A Successful Search for Eggs 

ing was entirely exhausted, but as this was the state of 
things about thrice daily, there was no undue alarm. 



^6 Highways and Byways of the South 

The pile of uncut wood was by no means large. It 
was replenished from time to time, when the need grew 
insistent, by a load from the forest. Mr. Perky com- 
plained that he had to go nearly two miles for his for- 
est wood, and said it was " gettin' skace." He owned 
no woodland ; but dead trees, standing or fallen, are 
common property, and it was with these that he re- 
newed the back yard pile. To reduce the wood to 
proper length for use, an axe was employed — never a 
saw — and it was customary to cut just enough for the 
immediate wants of the next few hours. 

The colored people were rather less forehanded than 
the whites with their wood. They were apt to " tote " 
it in from the forest a stick at a time, the stick being 
as large as the bearer could comfortably shoulder. 
Probably no class of people with wood for the taking 
suffer as the negroes do in winter. They simply will 
not get enough to keep themselves warm, and their 
thin-walled houses are far from easy to heat in really 
sharp weather. Many a chill day, were you to look 
inside their huts, you would find only a little handful 
of fire flickering in the fireplace, and the whole family 
huddling about it, shivering. They may even sleep 
around the fire. On cold nights they help themselves 
to sticks from the woodpiles of their white neighbors, 
and sometimes they will burn a board of the cabin 
floor, thrusting an end into the fire and pushing the 
rest in gradually as the flames eat it away. 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 37 

Most of the toting of wood from the forest for the 
negro cabins falls to the lot of the women, and I recall 
seeing one stout old negress, who lived near the 
Perkys, bringing in wood thus a number of times every 
day. She did her own chopping, and as she gained 
her livelihood by taking in washing, she not only had 
to chop enough for her indoor fires, but also for an 
outdoor fire that she kept burning pretty constantly. 
Washing in the yard is almost universal in the South, 
and neighboring every house is a big black kettle in 
which water is heated. The colored woman of whom 
I have spoken, after boiling the clothes in the kettle, 
transferred them to some tubs on her porch, and 
later hung them on her fence to dry. While she 
worked she smoked a long-stemmed pipe. She was 
disposed to be critical of her wages, and mentioned 
doing a wash for a white family of eight persons for 
twenty-five cents a week. 

After Abraham and Jerry had hacked away at the 
Perkys' woodpile for a half-hour or so 1 went for a 
walk with them. Mrs. Perky had rewarded each with 
a chew of tobacco. " I been chewin' 'bacca ever since 
I high enough to know it," confided Jerry. " Us likes 
it." 

I made some derogatory remark about the habit, and 
Abraham asked soberly, " Is chewin' against the law in 
yo' country, mister?" 

" Oh, no ! " said 1. 



38 Highways and Byways of the South 

" Well, I spec smokin' is, ain't it, Cap. ? " he sug- 
gested. 

The boys often addressed me by this military 
abbreviation. They took considerable pride in being 
mv companions, and were inclined to be abusive to 
others less favored. We met a little girl they called 
George-ann with a pail of water poised on her head. 
She intimated to Abraham that he was wanted at 
home, but he disdained her. " The idee ; you got a 
bucket o' water on yo' haid, and talkin' to me ! " 

Just then his mother appeared on the scene and his 
haughtiness evaporated. I told her I was going to the 
woods, and that I would be glad to have the boys go 
with me. 

" Sure God is ! " she exclaimed. " I doan' see what 
vo' want wid dem raggedv, good-for-nothin' bovs. 
Dey look like de berry debbil ! " 

Their appearance was not at all sugcrestive of the 
Satanic to me, and I found them interesting and enter- 
taining. They kept up a continual chatter that con- 
sisted largely of bickering disputes between themselves. 
They seemed to enjoy argument, and there were few 
subjects that did not yield them a chance to differ. 
For instance, take the mosquitoes. They swarmed 
everywhere in the vicinity of the Suwanee. You could 
not escape them in the forest, or in the village, or in 
the homes, and they put in twenty-four hours a day 
persecuting humanity. Everybody had to keep up 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 39 




Water from the Village Pump 

a constant fight. While I was passing one of the 
negro cabins with the boys a shutter creaked and an 
aged negress poked her head out of a window aper- 
ture. She said the mosquitoes were so bad she had 



40 Highways and Byways of the South 

closed her house up tight and was sitting in the 
dark. 

" Look at de skeeters aroun' me," remarked Abra- 
ham. " Dey done pester me so I wish dey all git in 
a pile, an' den I could cut 'em up wid a hatchet or 
somepin' ! " 

" Dese yere skeeters bite anybody," Jerry com- 
mented. 

" Ehh, uhh ! " grunted Abraham in disapproval. 

" Yes, dey will ! " 

"Ehh, uhh!" 

" Dey will, yo' know dey will, Abwaham." 

" Will dey bite de Lord ? " 

« No." 

" Den dey won't bite ^^jvbody." 

" But de Lord doan' walk down yere," was Jerry's 
excuse. " Dey cain't meet up wid de Lord to bite 
him if he doan' walk down yere." 

The boys spoke of a ball there was to be in the vil- 
lage soon, and they said that they could dance, though 
Jerry conceded that his companion was the more ex- 
pert. " He limber and he a good dancer," said Jerry. 

I tried to get Abraham to show his skill, but he 
would only go through a few steps of two dances, one 
of which he called " Pop Open," and the other " Pull 
the Mule." 

The sky was dull and threatening, and once we 
heard distant thunder, or, as the boys expressed it, 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 41 

" a grass-wagon rolling over a bridge." They had 
a good many imaginative notions of that sort. Jerry 
took particular pains to point out to Abraham trees 
in the pine woods which he asserted were " done swole 
up — de heart is daid " ; and he called attention to 
the ant heaps and said : " If dose red ants sting you, 
dey give you de fever. One done stung me on dis 
yere toe nex' de big toe, an' dat toe got so sore I 
couldn't hardly walk." 

My companions were quick to recognize birds and 
their songs, and they pointed out to me mocking- 
birds, sparrows, " loggerheads," thrushes, redbirds, 
and " yallerhammers." They were interested in the 
berry bushes we passed, and spoke with especial en- 
thusiasm of "jew" berries, which they said "got ripe 
'bout de time de jew fall on 'em a li'l'." 

" You like them, do you .? " I asked. 

" No, sah," Abraham responded. " I doan' like 
'em, I loves 'em. But de bes' berry is de sparkle 
berry — m-m, ah, ah, 0-0! And yo' c'n make wine 
out of sparkle berries. Is you ever eat dem ? " 

Scattered all through the woods were low, delicate 
lilies, nearly white, but with tinges of purple. The 
boys picked some of these, and some " shame-brier," 
and some cowslips which they called buttercups, and 
some lupines which they called " popple," a name they 
explained by saying that the pods when crushed 
would go " pop-pop." 



42 Highways and Byways of the South 

"We pick all kind of flowers when school keep," 
remarked Jerry, " an' we tie 'em up aroun' on de 
schoolroom walls, and dey suttonly do look han'some." 

" Can you read?" 1 inquired. 

" I read li'l' bit. Dis yere boy " (indicating Abra- 
ham) "he c'n read a lot. Me 'n' him are jus' about as 
ole, but he been to school de mostest. We have 
school four month ev'y year, De las' teacher we had 
was name Johnson. He was a ba-ad man. He 
sholy was. He was always beatin'. He beat you it 
yo' beat one of de gals when we out doors playin' ; 
an' it doan' make no dif'runce if de gal jump on yo' 
first. He was a ba-ad man." 

On our way back we called at the schoolhouse. It 
stood lonely in the thin woods on the outermost 
borders of the village — a brown, rickety barn of a 
structure that looked utterly uncared for and aban- 
doned. I could have wept when I saw its melancholy 
interior — the shaky floor, the glassless window open- 
ings closed by board shutters, the cracks in the walls 
and roof, and the broken benches and desks. As in 
the negro cabins, there was no plastering or sheathing 
or ceiling. In one corner was a small blackboard, and 
near this a rude table for the teacher, that was fenced 
in with a slight railing. Abraham sat on the teacher's 
table and dangled his heels. Jerry hunted for bits of 
chalk to use on the blackboard and walls. Two or 
three smaller children wandered in while we were 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 43 

there, and walked about very quietly until one of 
them suddenly disappeared and set up a frightened 
yelling. I ran to learn the cause of the trouble, and 
found the youngster had stepped on a broken board 
and flillen haltway through the floor. We rescued 




The Colored People's Schoolhouse 

him, and Jerry put his hands over the little fellow's 
mouth and hushed his outcries. This incident only 
served to add to the pathos of the situation — such 
discomforts and so few advantages ! I could not 
fancy that the children who attended school here 
could gather more than the merest crumbs of an 
education. 



44 Highways and Byways of the South 

Not far away, in the brushy borders of the " piney 
woods," was the negro graveyard. A few bits of 
boards were set up at the head and foot of the newest 
graves, but the rest were wholly unmarked, and time 
had obliterated all signs of where they had been. As 
we approached we saw a dog among the graves gnaw- 
ing a bone, and the effect was grewsome, though the 
bone was not human. 

" My paw buried thar," said Jerry, and then, point- 
ing to Abraham, he added, " Dis boy paw ain' buried 
yet." 

I wondered, as I turned away, whether this colored 
schoolhouse and graveyard could be at all typical. 
Later experience leads me to think they are counter- 
parts of what would be found in a great many com- 
munities. The negroes are semi-outcasts. They get 
only the dregs. But then, the Southern country as a 
whole is poor, and the advantages the white people 
can provide for themselves are apt to be very meagre. 

When I returned to the Perkys' it was supper-time ; 
but supper was not ready. The smoke-house key was 
lost, and everybody was hunting for it — Mr. Perky, 
Mrs. Perky, Nan, and Mr. Swazey, the boarder. They 
kept on ransacking the premises until Mrs. Perky sat 
down exhausted, and said : " Well, I wouldn't hunt any 
more if I was never to eat another piece of meat in my 
life. Mr. Perky, I wish yo' would buy a little bacon 
at the store — enough for to-night. It's likely I c'n 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 45 

find the key to-morrow. I put that thar key on the 
shelf in yon closet this noon, an' I shet the do' an' 
lef it thar and ain' teched it since, an' yet hit's gone 
clean away. Well, I'm plumb tired out an' nervous. 
Nan, you'll have to get the supper; " and Mrs. Perky 
took another dip of snuff. 

Mrs. Perky and her snuff were never long separated. 
She kept it in a tin spice box and dipped with a twig 
of black-gum six or eight inches long. She kept a 
supply of these little twigs on hand. When in use 
one end of the twig was chewed into a brushy swab. 
This end she would rub about in the snuff-box and 
then thrust in her mouth and let it stay there with 
the other end protruding. She did very little masti- 
cating, the process consisting chiefly in holding the 
snuff in her mouth and gently absorbing it. 

" I never dipped until after I was married," said she, 
" and not then until I begun to have dreadful tooth- 
aches. Mr. Perky's folks was all great tobacco worms, 
an' they tell me I boun' to lose all my teeth if I don't 
dip snuff. So I learnt ; and now when I get worried 
up over something, I dip many a time when 1 don't 
know it or think anything about it." 

In preparation for supper we men folks resorted to 
the back porch and washed our hands and flices in a 
tin basin kept there on a shelf which extended between 
two of the porch posts. We threw the waste water 
out into the yard. Our immediate source of supply 



46 Highways and Byways of the South 

was a bucket close at hand, and this was filled as occa- 
sion demanded from a cistern in the yard, that gathered 
the drainage of the root by a system of troughs. 

We ate in a rough little room next the still smaller 
and rougher " cook room." Two long benches flanked 
the table and served as seats for the Perkys and their 
boarder, but a chair was set at the head of the table 
for me. We had bacon, rice, canned tomatoes, biscuit, 
corn bread, and cofl^ee ; and, with minor variations, this 
was the fare at every meal. The corn bread, also 
called hoe-cake, was a soggy, flat, round cake, a foot 
across and an inch thick, baked on a griddle. There 
was no butter, but you coulci use bacon grease on the 
biscuit and corn bread, or you could dip on the stewed 
tomatoes. Butter was always scarce in the winter and 
early spring. 

" You see the cows have to look for themselves in 
winter," explained Mr. Perky, "and they are obleege 
to ramp aroun' right smart to get enough to live on. 
We got too many cows for this hyar range, anyway. 
In the spring we burn the old grass ofl-'all through the 
woods, and pretty soon the new grass begin to come. 
It's right sweet, and the cows loves it dearly. They 
do better then, and we drive 'em up an' milk 'em and 
have milk and butter to use till fall. Some people 
keep up two or three cows through the winter, but they 
only feed 'em corn shucks and such like, and the little 
milk they give don't hardly pay for foolin' with 'em." 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 47 

The skim milk not consumed by the household was 
fed to the hogs and chickens. Every family had its 
herd of razorbacks, often fifty or seventy-five of them. 
During the day they roamed the woods, and all 
through the forest I saw the little holes they had torn 
in their search for roots and worms. With the ap- 
proach of evening they returned to the house gate for 
a feast of slops, and after disposing of these and nosing 
about the vicinity in search of more morsels, the bevy 
of porkers would camp down in a bunch near the house 
yard fence for the night. These native black razor- 
backs seemed to be quite successful in picking up a 
woodland livelihood, but they never succeeded in fill- 
ing out their lean sides. 

" I was layin' for to have chicken for Sunday dinner 
to-morrow," remarked Nan. 

" I reckon then the preacher's goin' to be hyar to 
dinner," said Mr. Swazey. 

" No," replied Nan, "he ain't; not that I've heard 
of" 

" A preacher don't think he's treated right if he 
goes visitin', an' don't get chicken," was Mr. Swazey 's 
comment. 

" Yes, preachers shorely do love chicken," said Nan, 
" and so do I ; but I cain't have chicken to-morrow. 
I been huntin' all roun' befo' supper for that ole 
Betsey hen, an' I couldn't find her." 

" What hen is that? " I asked. 



48 Highways and Byways of the South 

"Who? The ole Betsey hen? Hit's one pa got 
of a nigger name of Betsey. She owed him a quarter, 
an' that was the only way he could get his pay. But 
that hen has been brought up with niggers, and hit 
seem like she boun' to run away to get with them all 
the time. I got tired of that, an' I'm goin' to put her 
in the pot. I'll take her head off, and then I reckon 
she'll stay somewhar." 

" Well, don't forget to fasten up the henhouse to- 
night," cautioned Mrs. Perky. 

" What do you fasten it for ? " I inquired. 

" Hit's the only way to have any chickens when 
thar's niggers aroun'," was Mrs. Perky's response. 

" God pity the chicken coop the niggers get into at 
night," remarked Mr. Swazey, fervently. 

" Sometimes they'll put a grain of corn on a fish- 
hook and ketch our hens in the daytime," said Mrs. 
Perky. " I tell you they're shrewd." 

When we finished eating and I looked out of the 
door I noticed that mosquito fires had been kindled in 
many of the village yards to draw the insects from the 
dwellings. While I was watching the leaping flames of 
these picturesque little bonfires lighting up fitfully the 
neighboring house walls, I heard Nan calling excitedly : 
" Mr. Swazey, yo' got yo' pistol ? Come shoot this 
dog ! He been a-stealin' of our aigs what the hens 
lay under the house ! " 

We all hastened to the back porch. 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 49 




The Jew's-harp 

" I don't see no dog," said Mr. Swazey, pistol in 
hand, peering into the darkness. " He done got his 
aigs an' gone with 'em." 

" No," said Nan, " thar he is, sneakin' along by the 
fence." 



50 Highways and Byways of the South 

" Yo' better not shoot much off that away," ob- 
served Mrs. Perky. " Yo'll hit a nigger." 

"Good thing if I did — thar's too many of 'em," 
grumbled Mr. Swazey. 

Then followed a sharp report and a flash of fire, but 
we saw the dog leap the fence and disappear. " I 
couldn't get a good aim," was Mr. Swazey's excuse. 
" Hit was too dark." 

" I know what I'm a-goin' to do," Nan said decid- 
edly. " I been pestered with them nigger dogs eatin' 
our aigs long enough. I'm goin' to the store an' get 
some Rough on Rats, an' poison 'em." 

" That's right," commented Mr. Swazey. " Don't 
yo' remember how ole man Dustan one time poison 
a liver an' kill mighty nigh all the dogs aroun' ? " 

Nan started after the poison, and her father and 
mother went into the house. "Well," said Mr. 
Swazey, " I mus' put this hyar pistol back in my 
room. I ain't one of them that carry a gun regular 
in their hip pocket. I don't believe in it. Hit makes 
too much devilment. I recollect hearin' a preacher 
preach wunst on that subject, an' he say he reckon 
thar was enough pistols right thar in the chu'ch that 
minute to reach clear acrost it, if they was to lay 'em 
down eend to eend, and I s'pose thar was. But 
carryin' wepons ain't so common as hit use' to be. 
I had jus' one spell of it myself I was only a boy 
then, an' thar was a man work with me what pester me 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 51 

continual. He kep' shootin' his mouth off till I was 
plumb distracted, an' one day when I couldn't stan' 
hit no longer I cussed him for ev'ythin' 1 could think 
of. I always had kep' quiet befo', and that cussin' 
skeer him. He tu'n so red hit look like if you 
scratch him with a pin he 'bleeged to bleed to death. 
I'd been carry in' my pistol an' projeckin' for to kill 
that man so long I make up my min' I do the job now 
ve'y soon. But I had a friend, and he see how things 
was, and he have a talk with the man ; and my friend 
he say to me afterward that the man agree thar be no 
mo' trouble. That make all the diffrunce in the worl' 
to me. Hit was jus' like yo' pick up this house an' 
set it off of me." 

At the close of Mr, Swazey's reminiscence we went 
indoors. Nan had returned with a supply of poison, 
and was preparing for business. First she imprisoned 
the cat. " She's a nachul good mouser," said Nan, 
" and we don't want to lose her ; and we don't want to 
lose Dunk either," she continued, as she got out the 
clothes-line and fastened it around the neck of the 
family dog. 

Dunk was a big, sober, long-legged hound, and he 
looked ashamed and disconcerted. " This hyar dog 
ain't never been tied up at night befo'," explained Miss 
Perky, " an' he don't know what to make of it. Did 
yo' ever hear the sayin' that if yo' want a dog that ain't 
yourn to stay with you, he'll stay if you cut off a little 



52 Highways and Byways of the South 

hair from the tip end of his tail an' put it under your 
doorstep ? Another way to keep a dog that ain't 
yourn is to take a piece of meat an' rub it on the 
bottom of his foot." 

The poisoned meat was finally put out in the yard, 
and we all gathered in the best room. This room had 
a bed in it, a few chairs, a small table, a battered bureau, 
and a sewing-machine. There was no carpet and there 
were no rugs. The sheathed walls had been papered, 
and the paper had cracked from ceiling to floor at 
almost every joint of the boards. Several hats adorned 
the walls, and a number of unframed pictures were fas- 
tened up with pins. Three of these pictures were big, 
gaudy circus posters, and another a plug tobacco adver- 
tisement. The room had a fireplace, but the weather 
was too warm for a fire, and the opening was shut from 
sight by a fireboard that was beautified with a pasting 
of colored pictures. Some of the pictures were fashion 
plates, some of them gay groups of turnips, beets, etc., 
from seed catalogues, while the centrepiece was a poster 
proclaiming the merits of a "Home Chill Cure — never 
Fails." 

On the mantel was a tall clock. " I bought that 
twenty years ago," said Mr. Perky. " Hit's an eight 
day clock ; but hit don't run eight days now. The 
spring air a-gettin' played out, and I'm 'bleeged to 
wind hit twicet a week, or it would go dead." 

Mrs. Perky took down from the mantel some photo- 



Way down upon the Suwanee River ^^ 

graphs, and told me all about each person represented. 
One was a photograph of herself, and she wanted to 
know if I thought it " favored any." She said she and 
Nan had ordered three enlargements from an agent, 
and were going to have them framed. Mr. Perkv 
remarked that he didn't see what they wanted to buy 
so many pictures for ; but his wife and daughter 
promptly retorted, " No, of co'se yo' don't care nothin' 
at all how the house looks." 

Mr. Perky was glad to change the subject, and he 
got up and rubbed his hands and face with some spirits 
of turpentine from a bottle on the bureau. " I'm goin' 
to see if that won't keep these hyar mosquitoes off," he 
explained. " I c'n keep 'em off by smokin', but it's 
kind o' hard to keep pullin' at yo' pipe all the time." 

" Don't yo' reckon these bald-headed fellers has to 
keep their hats on, when the mosquitoes are aroun' 
like they are now, so they won't get e't up by 'em .? " 
asked Mr. Swazey. 

" They bite me through my shoes," Nan declared. 
" I've heard tell thar'll come a hundred for every one 
yo' kill," she continued, " an' hit look like to me that 
was a true saying." 

"Well," said Mr. Perky, "I was over to Skace- 
grease, yesterday was a week ago, and they said the 
mosquitoes was so numerous thar an' they killed so 
many they had to haul 'em off in wheelbarrows." 

" I wouldn't be surprise," commented Mr. Swazey. 



54 Highways and Byways of the South 

" They say hit's these hyar wiggletails make mosqui- 
toes, an' yo' know thar's a big swamp over near Skace- 
grease whar the water's all full o' them wiggletails." 

Mr. Perky did not find his application of turpen- 
tine very effective, and he presently resumed smoking. 
Every few moments he would spit in the direction of 
the fireplace. Mrs. Perky had her snuff dip protruding 
from her mouth, and she also had a surplus of saliva, 
but disposed of it behind the fireboard. " These mos- 
quitoes make me wish / smoked again," said she. " I 
use' to smoke equal to Mr. Perky. After he was 
through with his ole pipe at night I'd clean it out and 
use it myself But I give that up, an' I only smoke 
now when I have a cold. It opens up your head to 
smoke a cheroot when yo' have a bad cold." 

" I wouldn't smoke," Nan affirmed, " but I love to 
see an ole lady settin' 'round the corner smokin'." 

" My boys smoke cigarettes," mused Mrs. Perky. 
" I've tried to get 'em to use pipes, but they won't. 
They've all moved away now, an' it leaves us right 
lonesome, though they were troubles, too, sometimes. 
Them boys would rather see a chicken-fight than eat 
when they was hungry, and they were forever buyin' 
an' swappin' to get a rooster that'd whip all the other 
roosters. I didn't like to have our roosters fight, 
they'd get bunged up so, and once w'hen the boys 
brought home our rooster dead I could 'a' whipped 
the last one of 'em." 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 55 

The evening slipped away, and retiring time came. 
I quailed a little when I entered my sleeping room 
and found it humming full of mosquitoes like a big 
beehive. The creatures sang and bit all night, nor 
could 1 contrive any scheme to get away from them, 
short of suffocating myself with the bedclothes. When 
I came downstairs at six o'clock the next morning all 
the family were stirring except Nan, whose mother 
was at the young lady's chamber door urging her to 
come forth and help about breakfist. Nan was re- 
luctant. She said she had got supper the night before, 
and so didn't think she ought to be asked to help with 
breakfast. Mrs. Perky returned to the cook room. 
1 looked out on the yard from the back porch. 
" Where are your dead dogs ? " I inquired. 

" I reckon Nan didn't put that thar poison out early 
enough las' night," replied Mrs. Perky. " I jus' went 
out to take it in an' I foun' that ole Betsey hen a-gnawin' 
at It. 

The old Betsey hen did not die from the effects of 
the poison. She was a hardy, adventurous creature, 
and when we were disturbed during breakfast by a 
great clatter from the cook room, Nan ran out and 
called back: "It's that ole Betsey hen. A little mo' 
an' she'd have laid a aig in the frying pan." 

I spent most of the morning on the front porch. 
The weather was hot and still, like a windless day of 
our Northern midsummer. The sun shone, the birds 



56 Highways and Byways of the South 

sang, the flies buzzed, the mosquitoes hovered about 
familiarly, the cow bells gently tinkled in the forest, 
and the village poultry crowed and cackled. Not far 
away, in the middle of the street, was an iron pump, 
and its handle was never long idle. Horses were 
driven up to drink from the trough, the cows came 
one or two at a time, and the hogs visited a waste pool 
that formed on the ground below. Many a bucketful 
for home use was carried away by both whites and 
blacks, and every little while some colored man or 
youth would drink by putting his mouth down to the 
spout, or perhaps he would fill his felt hat and drink 
from that. 

On my walk, the day before, Jerry and Abraham 
had pointed out to me the colored people's "chu'ch- 
house " — a plain, barnlike structure originally put 
up for a " bar-room." It stood in the woods on the 
river bank, and the stream flowed dark and swift and 
deep not a stone's throw away. In front, suspended 
between two trees, was " the bell," — a great, broken 
circular saw. On one of the two trees hung a short 
iron bludgeon which served as a clapper. Some man 
of the congregation rang the bell for church, and the 
boys rang it for Sunday-school. I had planned to 
attend service at this colored church-house ; but I 
listened in vain for the bell, and when, toward noon, 
I walked down to the river, I found the preaching in 
full progress. 




Tut Bell-ringers 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 57 

The interior of the edifice consisted of a single, big, 
bare room with a floor of unplaned and unmatched 
boards, and naught overhead but the roof, through 
the crevices of which I could see bits of sky. The 
windows had disappeared, but heavy wooden shutters 
were hinged at the openings, and could be swung back 
to admit the light when the room was in use. All 
the seats, including one behind the pulpit, were 
benches, some of them broken, and most of them 
backless. The pulpit was on a low platform. It was 
hardly more than a shelf covered with cloth. There 
were two preachers, one seated on the platform bench, 
the other exhorting. Three of the sisters sat along the 
right hand wall and four of the brethren sat along the 
left hand wall, and that was the congregation. 

The exhorter was a little man with a long mustache. 
All of his front teeth were gone, and their absence 
was rather impressive, for he opened his mouth very 
wide. To add fervor to his religious eloquence, he 
assumed a voice so hoarse and violent that his words 
were scarcely distinguishable. He had a rhythmic way 
of expelling four or five words in an explosive shout, 
and then drawing in his breath with a sudden rasping 
snort. This kind of delivery he continued all through, 
except when he broke into a wail, or sang a line of a 
hymn. He looked and acted like a wild man. Strid- 
ing back and forth across the platform, he waved his 
arms and distorted his body. Sometimes he crouched 



58 Highways and Byways of the South 

low behind the pulpit almost out of sight. Again he 
leaned far back and addressed God in heaven, but 
always in tones throbbing with hoarse frenzy. 

The chanted medley of his discourse seemed to be 
a kind of vision — a vision of a rich man, a poor man, 
a lame man, a bond man, etc. " I see a ole man — 
snort — he walk wid a cane — snort — I see a judg- 
ment day — snort — hit make no difference — snort — 
rich or poor — snort — lame or blin' — snort — hit's 
God's judgment day — snort — dese yere ole chu'ch 
hypocrites — snort — dey git deir pay — snort — I see 
a li'l' wheel — snort — hit's a-turnin' — snort — I see 
a big wheel — " and he whirled his hands, and went on 
to explain that the little wheel was turning inside of 
the big wheel ; but what the significance of the wheels 
was I did not understand. 

The audience supplemented the preaching with an 
occasional " Amen," " Glory be," " Yes, indeed," and 
sometimes by the humming of portions of hymns. 
The main theme of the exhorter was man's lost and 
miserable condition, but toward the close the strain 
became joyously ecstatic, and with a final, " I'm goin' 
to Jesus now," he sank back on to the bench. In- 
stantly the other preacher was up, starting a negro 
melody, " David bear on yo' heart," in which every 
one joined vigorously. The rest of the service con- 
sisted of one or two short addresses, a long prayer, and 
more singing. 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 59 

All the time the worshippers had to defend them- 
selves from the swarming mosquitoes. Some used 
palm-leaf fans, some wafted their handkerchiefs, and 
one man tied his handkerchief over his head. 

Just before we were dismissed the preacher of the 
day announced that, " In two weeks hit'll be com- 
munion, an' we got to do somepin, 'caze dar ain' no 
money to buy de wine wid." 

Thus urged, two of the colored men contributed five 
cents each, and I handed in a quarter. My munifi- 
cence was apparently unprecedented, for the elder who 
took my coin offered to give me back change. 

One of the ministers said he would preach there 
that night " at early candle lightin','' and added, " Yo' 
needn't make no great blowout about it, but be sho to 
come." 

When the benediction had been pronounced, the 
oldest of the sisters broke into a song and shook 
hands with the other women and the preachers. I 
mentioned to this aged sister as we passed out that I 
had not heard the bell ring that morning for service. 

" Dey say dey knock de bell twice," was her re- 
sponse, " but I didn't hear it no mo' dan you did, 
an' 1 lives close by in de quarters." 

To the colored people their huddle of cabins was 
still " the quarters," the same as in slave times. At 
the dinner table that noon Mr. Swazey told me I 
ought to be on hand when the niggers had a revival. 



6o Highways and Byways of the South 

" Of all the shoutin' an' rarin' an' tearin' an' cuttin' 
up, they have it," said he; "an' thar's meetin's night 
an' day for two or three weeks." 

Our Sunday dinner was more elaborate than our 
week-day meals ; for we had extras in the shape of a 
platter of boiled cabbage, a peach pie, a loaf of cake, 
and a tumbler of tasteless manufactured jelly. Mrs. 
Perky, as she took a second helping of cabbage and 
dipped the pork grease over her hot biscuit, complained 
of not feeling well, and said her health hadn't been really 
good in a long time. She couldn't understand what 
the matter was. 

" I think maw need a change," observed Nan. 
"She ought to go on one of these hyar railroad 
scurgions." 

" Yo' certainly have a hearty appetite, Mis' Perky," 
suggested Mr. Swazey. 

" I'd be as fat as a mole if it was eatin' made a 
person fat," the lady replied ; " but my stomach ain't 
right, I been takin' difFrent kinds o' medicine, an' 
they don't none of 'em holp me. Yesterday, in the 
store, they tol' me they got a new medicine they like 
me to try, an' I reckon I will." 

After the dinner things had been cleared away we 
gathered on the porch, Mr. Perky and Mr. Swazey 
with their pipes and Mrs. Perky with her snufF stick. 
Nan had put on her sunbonnet and gone down to the 
woods by the river with a knife to get a " wad " of 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 6i 

sweet-gum. She returned chewing, and when her 
jaws became tired she stuck the gum on a porch post 
ready for future use. 

Mrs. Perky gave me a turkey wing with which to 
combat the mosquitoes. " Hit 'pears to me," said 
Mr. Swazey, " that thar wing belong to the turkev I 
shot a year ago. He was a big one, I tell you — 
weighed sixteen pound dressed, and had a beard ten 
inches long." 

" We have oodles of turkeys and other wild game 
in these hyar woods," was Mrs. Perky's comment. 
" I reckon you'd find deer within five or six mile." 

Just then a short, rotund, elderly man, whom my 
companions addressed as " Uncle Rob," came in at 
the gate. He was a man of many excellencies, Mr. 
Swazey informed me in an aside, " though he's drunk 
enough whiskey to run the Suwanee River a mile. 
Thar ain't no one aroun' hyar drunk mo' whiskey 
than Uncle Rob, unless hit is the alligator boy." 

"Who is he?" said I. 

" He's a white man about my age," Mr. Swazey 
replied. " His head is human, but the rest of him 
some resembles a 'gator. His lower half ain't fully 
developed, and they say he's got thirteen ribs on one 
side an' only four on the other." 

Uncle Rob had been urged to have a chair, but he 
said it suited him better to sit on the steps. " I ain't 
comfortable in no chair 't ever was made," he declared, 



62 Highways and Byways of the South 

and then turning toward Nan he continued, " Hit's 
been a long time since I set down an' tol' you a love 
story, Nan." 

" Ho ! thar ain't no chance for you, Uncle Rob," 
exclaimed Mr. Swazey. " Ole man Hill been aroun'." 

"Yes," said Mrs. Perky, "that's a fact. Ole man 
Hill lost his wife less'n a year ago, but he's bought a 
new hat an' he try to look as young as he can, an' 
he been aroun' to see Nan." 

Thereupon they all began chaffing Nan, who played 
at shyness and tried to blush, but she evidently did 
not find the subject uninteresting. Presently Mrs. 
Perkv mentioned that the day before she and several 
other village women had cleaned the schoolroom in 
preparation for a religious service to be held that after- 
noon. " We drug the stove into the closet at the 
back," said she, "and when we got through our work 
an' all the dirt an' rubbish was out of the room, hit 
look ve'y well. Yo'll go to the meetin' to-day, won't 
yo'. Uncle Rob ? " 

" I don't think ! " responded that individual, blowing 
his nose through his fingers. " I ain't no infidale, 
but I don't take any stock in sky pilots. If ever the 
ole boy got after me hit was one night I slep' with a 
Methodis' preacher. I'd keep wakin' up; but each 
and ev'y time I slep' I had the devil with me. The 
preacher, he didn't wake. He jus' snored right along, 
an' at las' I got up an' went downstairs an' slep' on 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 63 

the floor. The preachers understan' how to talk an' 
that's all. I know a preacher who's the worst tyrant 
yo' ever see. His own wife is skeered of him, an' she 
have to wait on him like she was his servant. Yo' 
ever hear of a preacher payin' any board ? Yo' ever 
hear of a preacher payin' mo'n half fare on the rail- 
road ? No, they the greates' beggars in the worl' ! 




A Drink from the Suwanee 



When a preacher come in one door I go out the other. 
The preachers tell how hit's mighty few ever gets to 
heaven, an' I made up my min' long time ago I rather 
go to hell with a good jolly crowd than go to heaven 
sneakin' up by myself." 



64 Highways and Byways of the South 

" I declare ! " said Mrs. Perky, " I boun' to make a 
slip-up on it ev'y time when I invite Uncle Rob to 
go to chu'ch." 

" Well," commented her husband, " I wouldn't go 
myself if we was to have the preacher we had las' year. 
He was wild as a rabbit." 

But it was to be a new man, and when the little bell 
in the cupola of the white folks' schoolhouse jingled, 
all of us except Uncle Rob went in that direction. 
The building was a fairly good one, but in poor repair. 
The schoolroom seats were carpenter-made settees. 
Several battered old desks were pushed out of the way 
at the rear. There had been no meetings for a long 
time, but now it was proposed to have them regularly, 
and, after some desultory visiting, a Sunday-school was 
organized. The newly elected superintendent — an 
elderly man who wore a starched white shirt, but had 
neglected to put on a collar and necktie — made a 
speech. 

" I appreciate the honor you have done me in 
selectin' me for yo' leader," said he; "but I'm afeard 
you've made a mistake. I ain't an eddicated man, and 
I ain't worthy the position, but I'll do my bes', an' I 
want yo' all to take holt an' help. One thing special 
I wish you'd do is each an' ev'y one to bring a penny 
ev'y Sunday. A penny ain't much — if a man didn't 
have but one penny you'd think he was ve'y near 
penniless. But 1 tell you a heap of pennies makes a 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 65 

whole big pile, an' that's what we'll have if ev'y one 
does their duty. Another thing — we got to buy 
some literature what to study the lessons from, an' 1 
shall order it right away, but hit ain't anyways likely 
we can get the literature inside of a week, so I ask 
ev'y one who jines to have a verse nex' Sunday that 
begins with A, and study the third chapter of Matthew; 
and now I reckon 1 better give the bell another clap." 

He stepped to the bell-rope which dangled down 
near the teacher's platform, gave a few pulls, and after 
waiting a few minutes for late comers, introduced 
the preacher. " He's got a farm over in Hamilton 
County," said the superintendent, " and he has to work 
hard for a livin' all the week. He don't git no pay 
for his preachin' excep' what we give, an' we sholy had 
ought to make up enough for to pay his ferriage, if 
nothin' mo'." 

The preacher had come in his buggy, and had to 
cross the Suwanee at a cost of twenty-five cents each 
way. The audience numbered about sixty, and in- 
cluded several babbling babies. Now and then a dog 
wandered in at the open doors. Outside we could see 
a few of the village cows feeding along the railway 
track. Occasionally some one among the worshippers 
would spit on the floor. Those who tired of the ser- 
vice left when they felt so inclined, and by the close, 
a good many of the small boys and young men had 
gone. 



66 Highways and Byways of the South 

The preacher took the crucifixion for the subject 
of his sermon. " Befo' I enter out on the discussion 
of my tex'," said he, " I wan' to say that I went off 
with the devil an' worked for him with all my might 
for three years, I know what it is to serve the devil, 
an' I know what it is to serve the Lord. Now, I 
wan' to tell yo' my ideas about the way the chu'ch 
take the Bible. They clean twis' the sense out of it. 
This Bible is ve'y bad treated. Yas, it is ! Thar's 
a lot o' ferrysees to-day jus' as thar was in Chris' 
time. They make a great display of religion an' their 
big gif's, but all that ain't of no account if they have 
not the right sperrit. How difFrent do you think 
the chu'ch members now are from them of Chris' day 
who did that red-handed murder — that murder of 
the Son of God, which, when he die, make this ole 
worl' stagger like a drunken man ? 

" Le' me tell you somepin, an' I want yo' to particular 
pay attention. It's somepin I never heered, but I 
figgered it out fo' myself, an' this is what it is — there's 
pride an' riches an' power in the chu'ch now jus' the 
same as two thousan' years ago, an' the chu'ch is one 
o' the greates' enemies of Chris' to-day. How many 
chu'ch members to-day yo' reckon are rael Christians ? 
an' how many of them are only lukewarm ! They too 
satisfied with theirselves. The devil, he make yo' 
think yo' clever feller an' doin' pretty well; an' he 
go on that away until he have yo' sho' enough. He 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 67 

air gettin' to win mo' victories to-day than the Lord 
does. Yo' mus'n' shet yo' eyes to that thar. 

" Now, somebody in this hyar crowd, when they 
make their egsit from this worl', is goin' to get to 
heaven an' beat ole Satan ; but it'll be because they 
have raely got Chris' — not because they belong to 
some big chu'ch. I wan' to tell yo' a little circum- 
stance. Thar was a woman — an ole woman, who 
got children an' great-gran'children ; an' the time 
come for her to go 'cross Jerdan, an' she wade in up 
to her knees, an' she get frighten', an' she turn roun' 
an' call to the people what stan'in' on the bank an' 
say she been a chu'ch member almost all her life. ' But 
oh!' she cry, 'I'm goin' 'cross Jerdan now without 
Chris' ! ' She hadn't raely got Chris' in all them years 
— an' that, brothers and sisters, show us wharin we 
mus' be careful ! " 

A few minutes before the preacher finished, a train 
sped past on the near railroad, and when we came out 
we saw a crowd gathering a short distance up the track. 
The engine had hit a cow, and, as Mr. Swazey re- 
marked, " had killed it dead as a houn'." There lay 
the mangled body, and the congregation went over 
and viewed it, but without much excitement. Village 
cows and hogs were sacrificed thus too often for that. 

" I've eaten many a good piece of steak the engine 
killed," said Mr. Perky, when we were once more on 
his porch. " I reckon the owners '11 claim that was a 



68 Highways and Byways of the South 

ve'y fine animal when they go to get the railroad to pay 
for her, but she was nothin' but an ole piney-woods 
cow. A Jersey is worth any two of her. You could 
mos' see through her she was so poor, an' she was 
ole enough to vote — that cow was. Co'se the meat 
can't be ve'y good, an' yet the niggers won't leave 
enough of that thar critter by mornin' to fill a post 
hole." 

Not far away, in front of the store, a group of 
young men who had attended the meeting at the 
schoolhouse began singing hymns. One of them 
presently came over to the Perkys'. " How's yo' 
maw?" inquired Mrs. Perky, and she asked likewise 
about the health of the other members of his family. 
Then she requested him to have the group of young 
men at the store come to the house and sing. This 
they did, and by ransacking the dwelling, upstairs and 
down, enough seats were provided for them in the 
best room. There they sang gospel hymns with Mrs. 
and Miss Perky for an hour. 

When the singers had dispersed and we had eaten 
supper, we gathered in the best room for the evening. 
Nan and her mother got out their Bibles, and pretty 
soon the former announced, " 1 done got my verse for 
nex' Sunday." 

We asked her what it was, but she would not tell, 
and her mother said : " Yo' awful cheesey with it. 1 
been lookin' for a word. Long time ago our superin- 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 69 

tendent want us to find a word in the Bible that had 
all the letters of the alphabet in it but^, an' none of 
the letters twicet. I was young folks then, an' we putt 
in for it an' read our Bibles all our spare time for three 
weeks. We had a hunt for that word, we shore did ! 
We would read till eleven or twelve o'clock at night, 
and finally we found it. Seem like hit was in Daniel 
or some book close aroun' thar." 

The sermon of the day was discussed, and it was 
agreed to have been a very good one. Mr. Swazey de- 
clared he liked especially the preacher's comments on 
church hypocrisy. " For instance," said he, " thar's 
all this kissin' the sisters in the chu'ch do. I allow 
hit air plumb deceptive. Mis' Perky, yo' don't think 
all yo' pertends to of them you kiss, yo' knows yo' 
don't! 'Twas Judas betray his Master with a kiss, an' 
hit seem like to me all this sisterin' what is done is 
some patterned after Judas." 

Presently the conversation drifted into a discussion of 
baptism. Mr. Perky was a firm believer in immersion, 
but Mrs. Perky was not. " My. mother was a good 
Baptist woman," said she, "an' she use to tell thar 
wa'n't any power in the world could change her in her 
belief, because she got it from the word ot God. She 
brought me up to her way of thinkin', and I jined the 
Baptist chu'ch. I remember the day. It was raw an' 
col', an' I thought I ought to take some quinine so 1 
not be sick. But maw, she say she wa'n't goin' to 



yo Highways and Byways of the South 

give me any quinine, indeed. She say the weather 
don't matter — the Lord, He take care of me, an' He 
never would let no one get sick from bein' baptize. 
My little brother went to the baptizin', an' he couldn't 
understan' what it all meant, an' he study on it after- 
wards until he say, ' Well, I know now what the 
preacher said. He say, " I baptize thee, my sister, in 
the name of the Father, and of the Son, and in the 
hole she goes ;" and in the hole she did go!' Yes, the 
preacher putt me in all over, an' no mistake. But I 
was scandalous badly fooled jining the Baptists, and 
soon as I realize I didn't believe in immersion I jined 
the Methodists." 

" Yo' belief is con-Zr^-ry to the Bible," affirmed Mr. 
Perky. "The Bible, hit say ' /'//rzW in baptism.' When 
people air goin' to be buried in their grave yo' wouldn't 
jus' sprinkle a little dirt over 'em an' call that buryin'. 
No, yo' have to cover 'em all up, or they smell bad." 

" Well," said Mr. Swazey, " if the Baptist reason for 
immersion is to git all cover up so they not smell bad, 
I believe hit a good thing. But I reckon we can't 
always be shore jus' what the Bible mean. The 
baptism yo' pattern after was in the river Jerdan, an' 
yet some pertends to say that the river Jerdan is only 
six inches deep, so yo' couldn't immerse no one in it, 
nohow." 

" That seem mighty unlikely," was Mr. Perky's 
comment. 




MOSC^UITOES 



Way down upon the Suwanee River 71 

" I don't see why," retorled his wife. " Yo' ain't 
got the sense that God give to geese, Mr. Perky. 
All rivers ain't deep like ourn." 

" Anyhow," said Mr. Perky, "yo' can't find it in 
the Bible where they po' the water on." 

" I don't care," was his wife's reply. " Yo' may 
cut my throat from year to year, but I'll never believe 
in immersion." 

There was silence for a moment, and then Mr. 
Swazey remarked, " Yo' so certain, Mis' Perky, yo' 
remin' me of a darkey preacher what say to his hearers, 
' If yo' doan' repent yo' sins an' believe, yo' go to hell 
jus' as sho' as I kill dis fly what have lit on de pulpit.' 
Then he give a slap with his hand, but the fly too 
quick for him. ' Ehh ! ' he say, ' I miss him, but yo' 
go to hell, anyway ! ' " 

"What I don't like," Mr. Perky said, "is this 
hyar custom they gittin' to have of pools right in the 
chu'ch, and rubber clothes to put on. Hit don't seem 
hke the Bible." 

"No," agreed Mr. Swazey, "hit shore don't. If 1 
was to be baptize in the Baptis' way, 1 would want to 
be baptize in runnin' water, outdoors." 

" Hit's a pore way, indoors or out," affirmed Mrs. 
Perky, " and this hyar immersion ain't agreeable to 
think of, either. I know a young lady whose parents 
are Baptists, but who say she'll never jine the chu'ch 
if she got to be splunged or soused." 



"ji Highways and Byways of the South 

"There's hardly any one ever strangle to amount 
to anything," said Mr. Perky, and he tried to argue 
further ; but Mrs. Perky would not listen to him, and 
broke in on every attempted remark of his with such 
loud-voiced opinions of her own that he subsided in 
discouragement. 

Monday morning came, and the village labor was 
resumed, but not very strenuously. It took a good 
while to get over the Sabbath inertia, and there was 
even more than the usual amount of loafing. All day 
long a tired group of whites and blacks lounged on 
the store porch. Sometimes a negro would carry 
his guitar to the store and sit with his back against a 
porch post thrumming the strings by the hour. 

Late in the day a son-in-law of the Perkys arrived 
from a neighboring hamlet, and asked Mrs. Perky to 
come and see about doctoring his wife and little girl, 
who were both sick. " They ain't so powerful bad 
off," explained Clarence, " but I want yo' to see 'em." 

" Everybody come for maw from all aroun' when 
anything air the matter," said Nan. "She a master 
han' for doctorin'. She know all about medicines, an' 
if one kind don't do no good, she give another kind. 
She uses quinine an' calomel an' rhuberb an' Jenkins's 
Vegetable Pills, an' all such like things that you can 
buy at the stores. She don't believe, if yo' feel bad, in 
waitin' till yo' air sick abed. We had such bad luck 
in our family she mo' anxious than most. She had 



Way down upon the Suvvanee River 73 

twelve children, an' there only six now. So when one 
of us grunts, she think something got to be done right 
then an' thar. Hit shorely would surprise you the 
way she fly aroun' when she hear one ot us grunting." 

Mrs. Perky at first said she could not go, but 
Clarence would have to travel five miles farther to 
find a doctor, and finally she packed a basket and 
changed her gown, took a fresh dip of snufF, and went 
off with him. 

Of all I saw on the Suwanee, the thing that most 
recalled the sentiment of the dialect song was a negro 
" festival and dance." Pay day at the turpentine still 
came every fourth week, and was sure to be followed 
by a celebration in some village home. On the pay 
day that fell within the period of my visit 1 began to 
see young colored women fluttering about in fine attire 
early in the afternoon, provoking the comment from 
Miss Perky that, "The niggers certainly can dress — 
yes, sir ! " and there was a constant going to and from 
a certain house that marked it as the one where the 
ball was to take place. This house was larger than 
most negro dwellings, and had been originally built for 
white occupancy. It had a hallway and several rooms. 
The bed had been moved out of the largest of the 
rooms, and chairs had been set along the wall. When 
I looked in at nine o'clock the chairs had been taken 
possession of by the elderly people, with a few children 
and even babies among them. John Blue, the musical 



74 Highways and Byways of the South 

expert of the hamlet, was picking his guitar, and the 
young people were prancing up and down the room — 
the maidens in gay, yet really pretty gowns of pink 
and white, but the men in very ordinary clothes, and 
wearing on their heads disreputable old hats and caps. 
During the interlude the men would light cigarettes at 
the kerosene lamp on the mantel, and the atmosphere 
became decidedly sickening. 

The feast that was served in connection with the 
merrymaking was in a back room, to which one had to 
grope along the dark hall. Here was a table spread 
with chicken, gingerbread, jelly-cake, etc. An old 
woman, with some coins knotted in her handkerchief, 
had charge of the feast, and sold the things as they 
were called for ; and there was an ancient darky sitting 
close by with a basket full of peanuts which he had 
roasted and was ready to part with at five cents a cup. 

The lady of the house had no "rejections" to my 
staying as long as I chose, but I felt I was an outsider, 
and presently returned to my lodging-place. This 
was near enough so that I heard the jigging of feet and 
the lively music of John Blue's guitar until the party 
broke up about midnight. I did not object to being 
kept awake, for the sounds were an echo of the song 
that had brought me to the Suwanee, and were very 
suggestive of the care-free happiness which made all 
the world seem ,, , , , 

•' sad and dreary. 
Far from the old folks at home." 



Ill 



A COUNTY SEAT IN ALABAMA 




r-p^USKEGEE 

is best known 



The Court-house Front 



1 



as the home 
of Booker T. Wash- 
ington's famous negro 
school, but the school 
is on the village out- 
skirts, and the place 
has a well-defined 
character of its own. 
It is a typical South- 
ern county town, and is 
a centre for the coun- 
try population from 
miles arounci. Thither 
the people flock every 
market day for news 
and gossip, for buying and selling, borrowing and 
paying, and for justice and law. The town is wide- 
streeted and placid, with a broad public square at its 
heart, bounded about by brick and wooden stores, 

75 



76 Highways and Byways of the South 

livery stables, law offices, etc. These structures are 
one and two stories high, and are pretty sure to have 
projecting from their fronts, across the sidewalk, an 
ample board roof to furnish shade ; and between the 
supports of the roof, on the outside of the walk, is 
usually a plank seat. The walk is a good deal encum- 
bered with displays of various goods, and here and 
there are careless huddles of empty whiskey-barrels 
and other receptacles. The barrels and boxes, in com- 
mon with the plank seats and sundry doorsteps and 
benches, are utilized very generally by loungers. The 
populace like to sit and consider, and they like to 
take their ease when talking with their friends ; while 
it occasionally happens that a darky will be so over- 
come by weariness or enmii that he will stretch out 
on one of the larger boxes to enjoy a nap. A more 
aristocratic loitering-place than any provided by chance 
or intention as adjuncts of the stores, is a group of 
chairs at the rear door of the court-house. Every 
pleasant day these chairs are brought out into the 
shadow of the building and the near trees, where they 
are occupied by some of the village worthies for pur- 
poses of mild contemplation and discussion. 

The court-house stands in the centre of the square, 
on a generous grassy oval that is separated from the 
rutted sandy earth of the rest of the square by a low 
fence. The building is a solid, but rather battered 
structure of brick, with quite a pleasing air of sedate 



A County Seat in Alabama 



77 



age. On the lower floor are the county offices, and 
among the other rooms is one reserveci for the grand 
jury — a most rudely furnished apartment with a small 
fireplace and a deeply sanded floor. This sand is, I 
believe, intended to ameliorate the unevenness of the 




A Favorite Loitering Place 

original floor of brick, which is badly worn, but it 
makes the room look as if it had been prepared for 
the caging of wild beasts. 

Upstairs is the court-room — a plain, old-fashioned 
apartment, heated by two small stoves. Its most 
noticeable characteristic is its odor of nicotine. The 
Southern men are famous smokers and chewers, and 



yB Highways and Byways of the South 

they spit copiously and emphatically all day long. If 
they are where a fireplace or stove is handy, they make 
that their target, but in public buildings or convey- 
ances they drench the floors, and the court-room had 
been thus soaked for two generations. I remember 
with what serious though tfulness and regularity the 
judge expectorated on the occasion when I was present. 
1 had followed a squad of shackled negroes whom I 
happened to see conducted to the hall of justice from 
the jail, and 1 went in and looked on until their 
lawyer ^ — -a young white man- — -was well started in his 
attempt to clear them. He was a shouter, and he 
made himself heard through the open windows all over 
town. I tired of his ranting, and came away, but it 
was explained to me that he just suited the negroes. 
They had a feeling that a plea which failed to be 
violent-voiced and accompanied by wild gestures wasn't 
worth paying for. Sense was a minor consideration. 
" The louder a man holler, and the mo' he tear aroun,' 
the better they like him. They think he's gettin' thar 
then." 

The business square on which the court-house looks 
out from its environing trees with serene though anti- 
quated dignity is usually very quiet. The town life 
is not very energetic. A good many of the stores 
get along without sign-boards, and I frequentlv heard 
their proprietors whiling away their leisure in the re- 
cesses of their shops with a guitar, or cornet, or fiddle. 



A County Seat in Alabama 



79 




Quiet on the Town Street 

They had plenty of time to visit with those who 
wandered in, whether to trade or to chat. Saturday 
is, however, an exception. That is market day, and 
the public ways and hitching-places are then crowded 
with mules and horses, many of them merely saddled, 
others attached to vehicles — vehicles that are occa- 
sionally modern, but ofttimes are otherwise, and that 
include some very curious makeshifts. Ox teams are 
common, and once in a while a negro drives a single 
ox harnessed between his cart-shafts. 

I often lingered on the square and talked with other 
lingerers. One day an ancient, who said he had been 
a preacher in his younger days, started a conversation 



8o Highways and Byways of the South 

by voicing the opinion that it was "goin' to rain. 
The sky's cl'ar overhead, but I been hearin' these old 
heavy thunders 'way off yonder, and that means rain. 
Yesterday morning it done that trick, and we had a 
right smart shower befo' night. I allow it would be a 
good thing for the crops to have a shower like that 
every day for a while." 

" It's mighty cold weather for this time of year," re- 
marked a tall man sitting on a near doorstep. 

" That's so," agreed the preacher, " and I been 
lookin' it up in my almanac, and there was a cold spell, 
same as we are having, put down for near about this 
time. I tell you those almanacs hit it pretty good." 

Just then a colored man came along. A conspicu- 
ous article of his apparel was a new pair of overalls 
with faded patches sewed on the knees and seat. The 
preacher accosted the negro and commented jocosely 
on the appearance of the overalls, but the negro replied 
that he reckoned it saved the garment more to patch 
it before it wore out than afterward. 

" Like enough," said the preacher, and then he 
asked : " What's that I hear about your trickin' your 
next neighbor with a conjure-bag ? " 

But the negro disclaimed all knowledge of such a 
proceeding, and as to the conjure-bag, he affirmed, 
" That 'ar's somethin' I never tote." 

" Oh, no, of co'se not ! " responded the preacher, 
sarcastically, and then, turning to me, he added, 



A County Seat in Alabama 8i 

" They won't own to it, but they're plumb full of 
such superstitions." 

" I doan' believe in 'em," said the negro. 

" Yes, you do. If you was to wake up and find 
some one had sprinkled a line of salt aroun' your 
doorstep, and put a little bit of hair inside the line of 
salt, you'd think there was bad things goin' to happen 
to you. I know you, and I know your conjure- 
bags — them Httle bags with a few roots and things in 
em. 

" I ricolict a circumstance," said the tall man on the 
doorstep. " About a year ago a few of us thought 
we'd have some fun with that ole nigger that lives all 
alone about a mile beyond the depot. We went one 
night and hitched a waxed string on to his cabin, and 
we'd scrape a stick across the string, and the noise it 
would make was something awful. 

"The nigger he pricked up his ears and he began 
to look aroun' this way an' that, and then he got a big 
club and sat there so scared it nearly took the curl out 
of his hair. Finally he went to prayin', and he put 
up a hot prayer, too, and we 'most killed ourselves 
laugh in'. 

" The nex' day I met him and I asked him what 
was the matter at his house las' night, and tol' him I 
was goin' pas' an' heard him prayin' so loud it made 
the shingles rattle on his roof, and he said : ' De 
devil done come to my place las' night, an' he was 



82 Highways and Byways of the South 

boLin' he gwine git me, an' I tried ev'ythin' to git quit 
of him, but he wouldn't go till I prayed de Lord, 
an' den I heard him movin' off down towards de 
swamp.' " 

" Well, he's a good ole nigger," commented the 
preacher. " He never had any education and 
never wanted any. You take some of these young 
niggers that get a little learnia and thar ain't no gittin' 
along with 'em. I'll say one thing, though, for this 
nigger school of Washington's hyar — they won't let 




A Typical Old-time Mansion 



'em be too uppity thar. I know a young nigger was 
one time comin' back from vacation, and the train was 
so crowded a good parcel of 'em had to stand, and 
some of 'em ladies. This fellow he had a seat, and he 



A County Seat in Alabama 83 

said he wa'n't goin' to give it up. He'd paid his fare 
and he'd just as much right to sit as any one," 

The preacher paused in his story and, addressing 
himself to me, remarked : " That's like the way you 
do in the North, but there ain't a white man in the 
South would sit a minute while a lady was standin'. 
Well, Booker was on that car and the young chap 
didn't know it, and Booker heard what he said and 
ask him, ' Whar. are you goin' ? ' 

"And the young fellow says, ' To the school.' 

" And Booker says, ' No, you ain't. We don't 
want your sort hyar. You can turn aroun' and go 
home.' Yes, Booker's got some good ideas, if he is a 
nigger." 

" Thar's Jake Durkin down at the corner," remarked 
the tall man on the doorstep. " He ain't been in 
town befo', 1 reckon, since his horse trade." 

" What was the trouble ? " I inquired. 

" Why, Tuskegee is a great place for tradin' horses. 
They're at it all the time round back of the hotel. 
Jake's voung, as yo' see, but he thought he could do 
as well as the nex' man in the horse business, an' it 
was time he had a try. So he rode into town, and 
the horse he come on was a crackerjack — a first-class 
good horse, right in his prime. Jake he went to the 
stable of one of our experts and he says, ' I've started 
out to do some horse-trading. Now,' he says, ' hyar's 
my horse. What have you got to put up against him ^ ' 



84 Highways and Byways of the South 

" ' Oh,' the man says, ' I don't want to trade.* 
" But that wouldn't do. It only made Jake mo' 
anxious, and he kep' urgin' till the man says, ' Well, 




Repairing a Chair 

hyar's a good horse, and I don't mind tradin' him if I 
can get my price.' 

" The horse looked fine in the stall, though he was 
thirty years old — a good deal older'n Jake was — and 
the man had paid about fifteen dollars for him. 

" ' Well, how'll yo' trade ? ' says Jake. 

"' Why, I'll give you five dollars to boot.' 



A County Seat in Alabama 85 

"'I'll tell you what I'll do,' says Jake; 'you make 
it ten and it's a go.' 

"And the man did, and Jake changed his saddle on 
to the new horse and went off, feelin' putty well satis- 
fied with himself. But everybody in town guyed him. 
They said he couldn't get home with such a horse, 
and finally it kind of dawned on him he'd made a 
mistake, and he went back to the stables. ' See hyar,' 
he says, ' they're all a-tellin' me I can't get home with 
this horse.' 

" ' Well, I don't care,' says the man. ' That's noth- 
ing to me. It makes no difF'rence to me whether yo' 
go home or whar yo' go.' 

" ' But I traded yo' a fine young horse,' says Jake. 

" ' And I traded yo' a fine old horse,' says the man. 

"'Well, I want to trade back," says Jake. 

"' But I don't; I'm satisfied,' says the man. 

" And so they had it back and forth until the man 
said if Jake would return the ten dollars he'd give 
and twenty besides, he'd trade. ' I only do it for 
one thing,' he says — 'because yo're young. Yo've 
got back the horse now yo' had in the first place, but 
it's cost yo' twenty dollars for bein' so confounded 
smart.' " 

" Jake's father was a good judge of horse flesh," ob- 
served the preacher; "but the war didn't leave him 
any horses to trade, and he never got into tradin' 
again." 



86 Highways and Byways of the South 

" You Northern people never knew what war was," 
said the tall man, turning to me ; " and we didn't have 
it aroun' hyar at its worst. We never see any Federals 
until the very end. Then the whole army done gone 
through hyar — fifteen or twenty thousand of 'em. I 
remember just how they went, — tromp, tromp, tromp, 
— as regular as the tick of a clock, all day long. They 
didn't do much harm except to take all our horses and 
mules so thar wa'n't a huf left. 

" Befo' the war we had hyar the finest country on 
God's earth, with plenty of niggers to wait on us, and 
everything else. The niggers was well took care of 
then, too. They didn't have so much sickness as 
they do now. They didn't drink so much bad whiskey, 
an' they wa'n't allowed to roam all about at night. 
Their houses was kep' tighter and they was given 
enough bedclothes to keep warm, and soon as they 
was sick they had the doctor. Once in a while one of 
'em 'd run away to get quit of bein' sold or whipped; 
but a man in town had a pack of track houn's special 
tor chasin' niggers, and we'd always ketch 'em. Some- 
time^ the dogs 'd mighty nigh eat the nigger up. If 
we had good luck, we'd have the runaway ketched befo' 
he'd been in the woods twenty-four hours, and then 
again we might not get him for two or three months. 

" I was tellin' you we didn't see no fightin' hyar, 
but what we did see was all the business stop, and 
most of the stores closed. Our manufactured supplies 




■:A&ia3M 



A Discussion 



A County Seat in Alabama 87 

was cut off, and we took, to weavin' cloth on the old 
hand looms ; we tanned our own leather, and made our 
own shoes, and all that. It was like settin' up a new 
country. During the last two years thar was no 
coffee, no sugar, and no tobacco, and it got to be a 
mighty tight time. We had thousands of corn, meat 
and provisions, and plenty of money, only the money 
wa'n't worth nothin'. People that had things to sell 
would rather have their goods than the darn stuff. 
I've paid two hundred and fifty dollars for a hat and 
five hundred dollars for a pair of boots. Yes, a man 
could bring to town a roll of money as large round as 
his thigh and take back all he could buy with it in an 
envelope. After Lee surrendered I made a great big 
fire out of my money — burned up fifteen hundred dol- 
lars. My mother had over ten times what I had, and 
she stowed her money away in the garret. She's dead 
now, but I reckon that money's in the garret thar yet." 

" That reminds me," said the preacher, rising, " I 
must go over to the bank and see about a loan they 
was goin' to make me." 

The president of the bank was an old schoolmate 
of his, and the preacher mentioned with pride that, as 
a special favor to him, the loan was to be at ten per 
cent. Interest rates are high in all parts of the South, 
and in many sections one to two per cent a month is 
commonly charged. The man who will loan at ten 
per cent is regarded as a public benefactor. 



88 Highways and Byways of the South 

The principal streets radiating from the Tuskegee 
town square are broad and tree-lined, and are flanked 
by fine old mansions, some in serene retirement be- 
yond a formal garden, some approached by an avenue 
of great trees. Tuskegee was one of the richest towns 
in the state " befo' the war " ; but, while the vicinity 
was never fighting-ground, the conflict left it devastated 
and ruined, in common with the rest of the Confederacy, 
so that, although you still find the old-time mansions 
and the ample grounds, they are not, as a rule, well 
kept up, and some are far gone in decay and dilapida- 
tion. The dwelHngs are of two types — the low and 
spreading with wide piazzas, and a higher and more 
imposing style with pillared fronts like Greek temples. 
On warm days the doors are thrown wide open and 
you can see straight through the central hall which 
penetrates and ventilates these homes of the sunny 
South from front to rear. 

Just outside of the village is the white folks' ceme- 
tery, of which they are very proud, for it is full of 
monuments, and receives constant care ; but to me it 
looked like a desert — as if the spot was blasted. It 
is a wholly grassless waste of sand, relieved only by 
clumps of flowering shrubs and scattered trees. Roads 
and paths are marked by bordering lines of bricks set 
up on edge so as to overlap each other in saw-toothed 
fashion, and family plots are ordinarily enclosed either 
by a brick wall or, more likelv, by a forlorn-looking 



A County Seat In Alabama 



89 




Keeping the Grass out of the Cemetery 

wooden fence. An old negro is kept busy hoeing up 
such stray spears of grass and sprou tings of weeds as 
chance to start, and owners of plots often supplement 
his labors in keeping the earth befittingly barren by 



90 Highways and Byways of the South 

bringing rakes and brooms and giving the sand above 
their family graves a thorough scratching and brush- 
ing. Then it appears beautiful in their eyes. - Grass 
seems to them unkempt. 

A great deal of money has been spent on the monu- 
ments, and the desire to emulate others in funeral dis- 
play has plainly resulted in expenses far beyond the 
means of many who have put up these fine stones. 
Very few of them date back more than thirty or forty 
vears. They have nearly all been bought in the period 
of the town's poverty. 

The negroes have a separate cemetery. If a colored 
person was to be buried among the whites, the latter 
would all rise from their graves in indignation. How 
they tolerate the " niggers " in heaven is a mystery, 
unless the mansions there are provided with kitchens 
and stables. But, whatever the state of affairs in 
heaven, no mixing is allowed in this Tuskegee burial- 
place, and the negro dead are interred a half-mile 
farther on, where cultivated fields give way to scrubby 
woodland. In a humble way their cemetery is a copy 
of that of the whites. Fences have been built around 
quite a number of family plots, and the ground in 
some cases is kept free from greenery by occasional 
hoeings and sweepings. Several of the graves were 
marked with diminutive slabs of marble ; others had 
neatly painted white boards set up ; but most, if 
marked at all, had only bits of wood, though not 



A County Seat in Alabama 



91 



infrequently the graves were outlined by a border of 
bricks or bottles. The cemetery was not enclosed, and 
many of the rude fences about the family plots were 
falling to wreck. Its pleasantest features, as 1 saw it, 




The Negro Cemetery 

were the tufts of wild violets that grew plentifully and 
two black-gum trees all ahum with honey-gathering 
bees. 

While I was loitering there an elderly negro came 
along the path leading through the brush from the 
town. Over his shoulder he carried a spade, under 
his arm a box, and in one hand a piece of board. He 
approached me, and holding out the piece of board, 
said : " Would yo' write on dis yere for me, Cap ? 



92 Highways and Byways of the South 

When I war young I war dat triflin' I learnt every 
kind of divihnent, but I didn't learn to read an' write, 
an' I wish yo'd copyfy de name on dis yere box." 

The box was a coffin, and contained the body of a 
child. It was a slight affiiir obtained at a grocer's, and 
some printing on the end in red and black showed it 
had originally held canned tomatoes. After I had 
copied the name the old man poked around con- 
sidering where he had better dig the grave. He soon 
selected a spot, and was not long in making a shallow 
trench in the sandy earth. Then he put in the coffin, 
shovelled back the sand, set up the headboard with its 
pencilled lettering, and at the foot of the grave stuck 
in a stick he picked up near by. That done, he plod- 
ded off toward the town, and the melancholy little 
funeral was ended. 

Off on another road, well away from the village, is 
a colored folks' camp-meeting ground. It is on a 
hill-slope with a thin growth of woods round about, 
and not even a negro house in sight. Here stands a 
great, low, wide-spreading shed of a building, open on 
all sides. The seats for the worshippers are rough 
planks, some of them a sawmill product, and others 
hewed out with axes, and very thick and clumsy. 
The pulpit platform and furnishings were scarcely less 
rude. Just outside the building at the rear was what 
looked like a sacrificial altar. It was a slight platform 
of short boards supported on four stakes and covered 







M^- 



^ 



An Imi'rovised Hothouse 



A County Seat in Alabama 93 

with a few inches of earth and a strewing of coals. No 
doubt a fire was built on it nightly to light the approach 
to the evening meetings. At a little remove were 
several ruinous cabins. They had bunks in them and 
fireplaces, and would be repaired at camp-meeting time 
to serve as lodgings for those who came from a dis- 
tance. The annual midsummer meetings are very 
picturesque ; yet they are not nearly so wild and bar- 
baric as such meetings were formerly, and decorous 
intelligence is everywhere becoming more character- 
istic of the negro religious gatherings. 

I returned from the camp-grounds by a field-path. 
On the dry slopes hugging the earth grew numerous 
spiny cacti of the prickly-pear order, and they were 
loaded with fruit. Southern children sometimes eat 
the pears, though there is not much to them save seeds 
and a tang of acidity. The woods were gay with the 
blooming dogwood which one might easily mistake at 
a little distance for bushes full of white butterflies, and 
there were pink azaleas and hawthorn, and a multitude 
of lesser blossoms, while along the fences in the opens 
were coral honeysuckle, blackberries, and wild roses all 
in flower. For a portion of the way I followed one 
of the brooks, or " branches," as the smaller streams 
are called in the South, through a loosely wooded hol- 
low. On the hilltops the wind blew a chilly gale, but 
here the air was quiet and tinged with springlike warmth. 
Best of all, I came on a "mocker" in full song — a 



94 Highways and Byways of the South 

changing, eloquent song with many surprises, trills, 
whistles, and snatches of melody. 

I left the hollow not far from Mr. Washington's 
school, and, on climbing a high zigzag fence, startled a 
young negro student who had secretly constructed here 
an amateur hothouse. He had taken some discarded 
windows and other odds and ends and tinkered up a 
structure three or four feet square and six or seven 
high, that was quite ingenious. He had contrived to 
keep it heated with a cast-off lamp that he set inside an 
old tin pail to form a kind of furnace. To a certain 
extent this hothouse was a plaything, yet he was by its 
means doing some genuine investigation into the prin- 
ciples of plant growth and nurture. He was perhaps 
making more of his school opportunities than most ; 
but the students, as a whole, are remarkably earnest, 
and are intent on getting all the good they can out of 
their course. I doubt if there is a white school in our 
entire country where the mental and moral atmosphere is 
so good. The students are not merely working to help 
themselves, but to be uplifters of their race. They 
are obliged to subsist on the plainest fare, to learn 
order, cleanliness, industry, and promptness. Small 
vices are not tolerated, nor any tendency to foppish 
display. 

The school is an inspiration, and the master spirit 
is Booker T. Washington — a man who, in spite of 
his fame, continues unspoiled ; a man of rare simplicity 



A County Seat in Alabama 



95 



and ability and hard sense, giving his life to stem the 
tide of ignorance and poverty and the attendant evils 
that weigh down his people. One does not have to be 
long in the South to appreciate the immense need and 
importance of his work. 




A Country Mule hitched on a Town Street 



IV 



AMONG THE GEORGIA CRACKERS 




I 



WAS at Crick- 
boro, a typical 
small village in 
the northern part of 
Georgia. There were 
perhaps a dozen 
houses in the ham- 
let, and others were 
^^ scattered at intervals 

■ I I * '^ ^m m \ along the country 

roads of the vicinity. 
Most of them were 
one story in height, 
and all were small. 
Some of the poorer 
ones had only board 
shutters at the win- 
dow openings. Nearly all the barns and outbuildings 
were of logs, and occasionally there was a log house. 
In the midst of the village, or "settlement," as it was 
called, were four or five little stores. They had no 

96 



At He 



Among the Georgia Crackers 97 

show windows, and were as simple and rustic as they 
well could be. Sunrise was their opening time. At 
noon the owners locked up and went home to dinner, 
and in the dusk of early evening they closed their 
establishments for the night. The stores seemed rather 
numerous for so diminutive a place, and much of the 
time I saw the lone proprietor of each sitting in the 
doorway, as if he was a monstrous spider with net 
spread, waiting for his prey. Every store was sup- 
plied with several chairs, and these were seldom with- 
out occupants in good weather. The favorite position 
was just outside the door, where, sociably and com- 
fortably, the loiterers could observe whatever was 
going on. 

Up a steep hill just east of the village was the Bap- 
tist church and the schoolhouse, the former painted, 
the latter colored only by the sun and rain ; yet the 
schoolhouse was a good-sized building, as it had need 
to be, to accommodate its hundred pupils. School be- 
gan in November and closed in April, and was in 
charge of a man teacher, spoken of as "the professor," 
and a lady assistant. The children were at their tasks 
for seven hours daily, or, to quote my landlady, " The 
school takes 'em up at eight in the morning and turns 
'em out at four in the evening." Most of the chil- 
dren brought their dinners, and the noon hour was 
known as " playtime." There was, of course, a recess 
in each session, " but I call it a watering time," said 



98 



Highways and Byways of the South 




A Schoolroom Corner 

my landlady, " because they spend most of the fifteen 
minutes around the schoolhouse well, drinking." 

This well was behind the school building under a 
little open shed, and the water was drawn up from 
the depths with a bucket and windlass. 

On the hill close by the church was the cemetery. 
The soil was full of stones, and whenever a new grave 
was dug quite a heap of them would be thrown out, 
and there they lay until the persons most concerned 
found it convenient to cart them away ; " and that's a 
good long time," was my landlady's comment. " I 
should think the ghostes of them that air buried would 
come aroun' an' nudge up their relatives about them 
stones." 



Among the Georgia Crackers 99 

The cemetery was unfenced, but this condition was 
to be remedied. The ladies of the community were 
making a quilt, for which they proposed there should 
be a raffle. Certain members of the church said a 
raffle was no better than gambling. Others deemed it 
entirely innocent, and argued that raffling, or methods 
equivalent, were employed for raising funds in churches 
everywhere. Anyway, it was the only possibility the 
quiltmakers could see of getting enough money for the 
fence, and they were hastening to finish the work as 
soon as they could. 

A half-mile up the road from the village was a 
second house of worship, commonly called " the Hard- 
shell Church," or, as its adherents would say, "the 
Old Primitive Baptist Church." They believed in 
doing the Lord's work as the spirit moved, and they 
would have no hireling ministers. To be sure, they 
paid their preachers, but each person contributed as 
his conscience dictated, and there was no tax or com- 
pulsion. The edifice was a brown, ramshackle struc- 
ture without turret or bell, and extremely rough inside 
and out. Until recently services had been held at the 
Hardshell Church once a month, but the itinerant 
preacher had lost his life in the winter while crossing 
a flooded river. " He and another man," said my 
informant, "got in a ferry skifi^ and started to pull hit 
over to the other side of the river by holdin' on with 
their hands to a wire rope that was stretched acrost. 



Lof 



lOO Highways and Byways of the South 

But the current was so swift hit jerk the boat out from 
under them. One man, he hung on to the wire an' 
got to shore, but the preacher, he was drownded." 

At the church in the village they had Sunday-school 
every Sabbath, and preaching every second Sabbath. 
Sunday afternoons the young folks to the number of 
thirty or forty were accustomed to gather for " a sing " 
in one of the houses, and once a vear there was "an 
all day sing" at the church. This all day sing drew 
together the people for ten or twelve miles around. 
They came on foot, on saddle-horses, and in all sorts 
of vehicles, and they brought feed for their horses and 
lunches for themselves, and each one who owned a 
copy of "The Old Christian Harmony" brought that 
to sing from. Not half the people could get into the 
church, and the surplus lingered about outside and 
visited. The musical exercises of the occasion were 
not as extended as one would fancy from the expres- 
sion "an all day sing." The program was — Sunday- 
school nine to ten in the morning, preaching eleven 
to twelve-thirty, and singing from two to four in the 
"evening." This word "evening" is used in Georgia 
in the same sense that we in the North use " after- 
noon," and as soon as supper has been eaten they con- 
sider it no longer evening, but " night." 

Every church in the region had its annual all day 
sing, which was perhaps the greatest pleasure of the 
year. There were, however, various lesser pleasures, 




^=^.. , ■. «■ iJ^AJJR^ ^ 



A Country Store 



Among the Georgia Crackers loi 

especially in winter. Then they had parties with an 
accompaniment of dancing, if girls enough were pres- 
ent who did not belong to the church. But most of 
the young women joined the church by the time they 
were fifteen or sixteen, and after that would not indulge 
in so doubtful an amusement. 

Yet they had no hesitation in taking part in the 
games of " Stealing Partners," " Twistification," and 
"Fancy Four" — games which do not differ much 
from dancing, except in name. 

" The way we play 'em is this," said a young 
fellow who enlightened me on the subject; "there's 
music to all of 'em, and while the fiddle's a-goin' we 
skip aroun' and try to knock with the music. In 
Stealing Partners, we all have partners but one boy, 
and he pick out any girl he want and swings. That 
leave another boy without a partner, and he have to 
pick out a girl and swing her, and so on. 

" For Twistification we all gets in line, boys on one 
side, girls on the other, with room for a couple to 
march up between us in dancing step. At the end of 
the line they swing and we all promenade. Then we 
form the line and start again. 

" Fancy Four is a good deal like Twistification, 
only two couples instead of one do the dancing and 
promenading. Of co'se these games ain't regular 
dancing. That wouldn't be allowed at most houses. 
They're Christian dancing." 



I02 Highways and Byways of the South 

The parties at which these games are played are quite 
apt to take the form of " Pound Suppers." To these 
the girls contributed cake, and each young man brought 
a pound of candy, or apples, or oranges, or crackers, 
or whatever he chose to furnish. 

Corn and cotton were the principal crops of the 
region, and the fields were busy with workers plough- 
ing, strewing fertilizer, and getting the seeds into the 
ground. The corn was hand-planted, and much of it 
was dropped by the sunbonneted women walking up 
and down the furrows. In the autumn the corn ears 
were picked and the stalks left standing in the fields 
until spring. I recall seeing the women armed with 
heavy hoes chopping ofi^ these stalks and piling them 
up to be bound, or "toting" them to the borders of 
the fields where they would be out of the way. In 
the middle of one such field lay a baby wrapped in a 
blanket. It was crying lustily, and its mother was 
hacking away as rapidly as she could so as to get 
through and take care of the youngster. 

Bee-keeping was a common industry, though owing 
to the antiquated way in which the bees were cared for, 
very little honey was marketed. One Sunday the bees 
belonging to an old man who lived across the road 
from my boarding-place swarmed, and he began to 
ring a cow-bell. It was a beautiful sunny morning, so 
calm you could hear all sounds for miles around — the 
bird songs, the barking of dogs, voices in the village, 



Among the Georgia Crackers 103 

and some one singing in the woods half a mile away. 
Then came the dinging of that hideous cow-bell, and I 
ran across the way to find out what had happened. 
The garden in front of the old man's house was over- 
hung by a shifting cloud of noisy-winged bees. There 
was serious doubt as to the intentions of this humming, 
whirling mass, and the cow-bell was intended to bedizen "^ 
the bees' minds so that they would settle down on the 
garden shrubbery instead of fleeing to the woods as 
instinct prompted them to do. 

Presently the old man ceased his dolorous ringing 
and slipped a fly-netting over his head, and gloves on 
his hands, and proceeded to investigate closer. The 
neighbors hung over the picket fence and advised, 
though sometimes scattering and seeking safety at a 
greater distance when the bees came too close. This 
running away seemed to me rather unnecessary, and I 
held my ground until a bee lit on the tip of my nose. 
Such familiarity on the part of the armed and angry 
insect was too much for my equanimity, and I could 
not resist the impulse to dash it off. That was a fatal 
mistake, and the bee left its sting. Oh, how it hurt ! 
and I beat an inglorious retreat, and did not return to 
see whether the old man lost his swarm or not. 

I'he hives in which the bees were domiciled were 
spoken of as "gums." Usually they were simplv 
oblong, upright boxes of home manufacture; but in 
earlier times sections of hollow black-gum trees served 



I04 Highways and Byways of the South 

the purpose — hence the name. Black-gum hives can 
still be found, and I saw several in a house yard about 
two miles from the settlement. There were sixteen 




Bee Cnini 



hives in all ranged along the fence, and about half of 
them were genuine gums. 

While I stood near the gate looking at the gums, a 
man appeared in the house door and invited me to 



Among the Georgia Crackers 105 

have a chair on the porch. The courtesy and friendly 
cordiahty of the Southern people were always a marvel 
to me. The stranger is at once made welcome, your 
entertainer's home is yours for the time being, and the 
family will all do their best to make your visit agree- 
able to you. I accepted the chair proffered me, but I 
begged off when the man and his wife, who had also 
come out on the porch, suggested I should go inside 
and play on their organ. They told me a large pro- 
portion of the homes in the vicinity had acquired 
organs within the last few years, and that certain 
members of each household had learned to play " hymn 
tunes." I could see the instrument through the open 
door with the enlarged portrait of a baby in its coffin 
hung over it. 

From the porch I had an excellent opportunity to 
watch the bees. The air was vibrant with a thousand 
wings as the busy insects darted off to the blossoming 
orchards and woodlands, or came home with their sweet 
burdens. The log hives were prepared for their 
tenants by the lady of the house, the chief requisite 
being an absolutely tight top. After cleaning out the 
dead centre from the section of log, she nailed a board 
on one end and crowded bits of cloth under the edge 
with a knife. Then she turned the gum bottom up- 
wards and tested it by pouring in water. If the water 
did not leak out the gum was all right, but the bees 
would refuse to occupy it unless the top was perfectly 



io6 Highways and Byways of the South 

tight. She said the bees Hked the log hives better than 
the board hives, and did better in them. June was 
the " bee-robbing time," and then the family took out 
what honey they wanted themselves and gave away a 
good deal to neighbors who did not have bees. 

When I concluded my visit I returned to the settle- 
ment. Two of the children of the house where I had 
been calling went with me. The older one, a girl, 
carried a basket; the other, a boy, carried a pail, and 
in these receptacles they were taking butter and eggs 
to one of the stores, and would exchange them for 
groceries. Nearly all the small marketing of this 
sort is done by the women and children, and they 
are very apt to go and come on foot. 

We had to pass through a bit of woods, and in 
a hollow among the trees we crossed a little stream, 
and the children pointed out a pool and said : " That's 
the baptizin' hole. That thar's whar they baptize at 
the Hardshell Chu'ch, an' they make the water deep 
enough by damming it just down the branch a little 
way. The las' one to be baptize hyar was Becky 
Brock, what they call Sis Brock." 

We had passed over the stream by a log adjusted 
for the purpose. Small streams were numerous in the 
region, but whether they were trickling rills or creeks 
ten or fifteen feet broad, no means were provided for 
crossing them save these log foot-bridges. The log 
was usually hewed off" flat on the upper side, and some 



Among the Georgia Crackers 



107 




A Foot-bridge 

of the longest and highest footways had a sHght railing 
nailed on one side of the logs. Adjoining the bridge 
was always a ford where saddle-horses and teams waded 
through ; and these fords served very well, except after 
storms, when passage was frequently impossible for 
several hours. 

On the outskirts of the village I one day stopped 
to speak with an elderly man working with three boys 
and a pair of mules in a wayside cotton field. Mr. 
Shenton — that was his name — was doing more di- 
recting than actual working, and when I greeted him 
he desisted from his labor and mounted the rail fence 
to visit more at ease. 



io8 Highways and Byways of the South 

" What's land worth up in your beat ? " he inquired. 

I gave him an estimate, and he said : " The best land 
we got hyar won't sell for more than fifteen or twenty 
dollars an acre, except some slopes suited for peaches ; 
those being as much as fifty dollars an acre. Won't 
you come over to the house an' set awhile? I ain't 
well, an' I depen' mos'ly on the boys, my gran'sons, 
to work the crops." 

At the house we found his wife standing in the door- 
way smoking her pipe; and beside her was a rosy- 
cheeked little granddaughter, not yet three years of 
age, with a snuff dip in her mouth. I had seen plenty 
of women with snuff sticks protruding from their lips, 
not only when they were about their homes, but when 
they were walking on the roads and riding on the 
trains. I had not, however, previously encountered 
so youthful a snuff-taker. There were tears in her 
eyes. She had just been punished for tipping over 
the snuff-box. 

" I reckon that chile use ten cents of snuff a week 
with what she dip an' waste, too," said the woman. 
" Tobacco do cost. The person what don't use hit at 
all had ought to get rich. Ellen, Ellen ! " she called, 
stepping back into the house a moment, " come and 
take cyar of this baby;" and the little one's mother 
came out on the porch and sat down with the child in 
her lap. 

" This baby was always po'ly until las' winter," Ellen 



Among the Georgia Crackers 109 

explained, " an' the doctor say she couldn't live, so we 
let her have what she want. Hit seem like she crave 
for tobacco, an' she learn to dip snuff an' she learn to 
chew. Most all the women an' girls hyar use snuff. 
The boys an' men dip some, but generally they jus' 
chew an' smoke. The boys learn to chew when they 
air little, an' they keep on chewin' till they air settled 
married men. Then they begin to smoke a pipe. 
The girls learn to dip snuff when they go to school, 
though hit ain't allowed if the master know hit. But 
the smaller girls they think they got to do like the 
big girls, an' thar's lots o' snuff-dippin' at recess an' 
noontime, when the teacher don't see hit. I don't 
remember how ole I was when I begun to use tobacco, 
but I remember hit made me sick. Paw let us get a 
chew from his box whenever we want hit. I don't chew 
none now, and I have try to give up my snuff, but hit 
seem to be like usin' opium, or drinkin' spirits — yo' 
cain't stop." 

" Tve heered they don't use snuff out North the 
way we do hyar," said Mrs. Shenton. " I was ridin' 
on the cyars one day an' two Northern women set in 
front of me tellin' how awful they thought hit was — 
our snuff-dippin' ; but while those two women talk 
they swear right along scandalous, an' I allow I rather 
have our snuff-dippin' than to swear the way the 
Northern women do." 

The afternoon was waning, and the hens were flap- 



iio Highways and Byways of the South 

ping up to their roosting-place in the Hmbs of a cedar 
close by the porch. " Well, I got to be gettin' at 
my work," remarked Mrs. Shenton. " Hit's a right 
smart of a job to take cyar of this house; but Ellen, 
she do most of the work now. I done quit it. All 




Working in tiie Garden 

our eight boys an' girls gone excep' Ellen, and if she 
leave, too, we'd give up the place an' go travellin' an' 
visitin' about among our children." 

When I bade the family " good-by " I was urged to 
call again and to come in sometime to dinner. This 
invitation to dinner I accepted a few days later. I was 
a little early, and Mr. Shenton was out in the field 
relaying a zigzag fence ; but his wife welcomed me to 



Among the Georgia Crackers III 

a chair on the porch and assured me he would be in 
when the " dinner train " went along. It seemed that 
a train passed about twelve o'clock and was known as 
the dinner train, because its passing was a signal that 
eating time had come. As soon as it hove in sight 
every one in the fields promptly started for the house. 

" The ole man done taken a likin' to you," Mrs. 
Shenton informed me, "an' he want to talk with you. 
He gettin' childish, now, the ole man is. He been 
sick a long time, an' he ain't plough a furrow in twelve 
years. His trouble is asthma. We cain't have anv 
flowers in the house on account of hit, an' when this 
hyar little fuzz come on the willers he cain't sleep 
day or night. The time he begun to be bad that- 
away he went to a doctor what was a specialist in 
Chattanooga. He only go to him three times, but the 
doctor holp him lots, an' he charge him fifty dollars." 

" Yes," said Ellen, looking out from the kitchen, 
" we pay fifty dollars, and when we ask the doctor what 
the medicine was and the receipt of hit, so we could get 
some mo' if paw need hit, he wouldn't tell ; but we 
think paw had got well, and the doctor have him sign a 
letter to use in his advertising, saying how much good 
he done him, and how peart he was feelin' ; and the 
doctor say if paw sick again he doctor him free. But 
I reckon he forget about that. He move away to St. 
Louis, and when paw get worse we learn the new 
address from Mr. Willard down hyar at Swamp Creek, 



112 Highways and Byways of the South 

what was afflicted with his eyes and was doctorin' with 
the same man ; and the doctor write he make paw a 
very low rate — only five dollars a month, in advance; 
and that air what we air a-payin' to him now. Oh ! 
we done spent the price of a good farm doctorin' in 
the last twelve years." 

Just then the dinner train rumbled past, and Mr. 
Shenton came hobbling in from his fencing, and the 
boys soon followed, riding on the mules. We had 
fresh pork for dinner. A neighbor "had killed a 
shote last week of a Saturday," and, in accord with the 
usual custom in warm weather, had shared the meat 
with all the families living near. Among the 
other eatables on the table were " water-creases " and 
" roas'in' years." My hosts ate the former cut up 
with onions and doused with hot grease and vinegar. 
The latter was green corn of home preserving served 
in the kernel, though it was still called "roas'in' years." 
The butter was noticeable because of its whiteness. 
It would have passed very well for lard ; " but we'll 
have hit yellow as gold," said Mrs. Shenton, " after the 
cows begin to get the new grass in the pastures." 

While we were at the table I spoke of an event of 
importance that had recently been discussed in every 
newspaper in the country. The family had not heard 
of it. Mr. Shenton said, " The papers, they got fill 
up with so much depredation of one kind an' another 
1 stopped a-takin' of 'em." 




Hickory Whistles 



Among the Georgia Crackers 113 

After we had eaten and adjourned to the porch, Mr. 
Shenton made some mention of the war, and said, 
" Johnston whipped the very wax out of Sherman 
right over hyar about three mile." 

" Our place was right atween the two armies," added 
Mrs. Shenton. " I was to home, and I had our little 
boy with me. Some of the bullets come right through 
the wooden walls, and we sat in the fireplace durin' the 
fightin'. The soldiers had took all there was to eat in 
the house. They didn't leave nary a thing, cooked or 
uncooked. But I didn't want to eat that day. The 
little boy, he got hungry and begun to fret toward night, 
and a soldier what come in give him some hard-tack." 

Mr. Shenton had served in the Confederate army 
under Bragg. His opinion of that leader was not very 
flattering. " Why ! " said he, " if Bragg whipped the 
fight, he'd run." 

" Whar my ole man suffered the worst was at Vicks- 
burg, when Grant had 'em besieged thar," afiirmed Mrs. 
Shenton. 

" We was eatin' mule beef toward the last," said the 
veteran, " an' 1 know I paid twenty-five dollars for a 
biscuit. Grant no need to have been so long about 
takin' the place, but he seem boun' to charge in jus* 
one place, an' we concentrate our men thar, an' have 
the advantage. We see Grant, every time when he 
gettin' ready to charge, march his men aroun' to some 
whiskey barrels, an' every man drink ; an' many of 'em 



114 Highways and Byways of the South 

so drunk when the fight begin they couldn't fire a gun. 
They each carry a httle flag, and some run way up to 
our breastworks and stick that thar Httle flag on top, 
an' then we reach out an' get those soldiers by the 
collar an' drag 'em in an' they our prisoners. There 
was always terrible slaughter of Grant's men ; but the 
North could git as many more as hit wanted. Hit had 
hits own men and hit hired men from Europe. Lots 
of 'em couldn't speak English ; and lots of 'em that 
could speak English, when we ask 'em, ' What are you 
all fightin' we-uns for?' they'd say, 'For sixteen 
dollars a month.' That was all they knowed about 
hit." 

" Of them that went to the war from aroun' hyar, 
I think no one come home worse off than Reuben 
Snell," remarked Mrs. Shenton. 

" Yes," corroborated her husband, " his mind not 
been quite right since." 

" For one thing," Mrs. Shenton continued, " he 
won't never tech no money. He say money burn him, 
an' he won't shake hands with no one who's been a- 
handling of it. He has bad spells, an' when one o' 
them spells come on he begin to smell gunpowder an' 
to feel bad. Then he call on God to help him, an' he 
feel better. While he have those spells he preaches, 
though I never did hear him but once. That time he 
took the almanac, and he say, ' Ell preach a big un.' 
He held the almanac upside down, but that didn't 



Among the Georgia Crackers 



115 



make no difference, 'cause he cain't read a speck, any- 
way, an' he say, ' My tex' is " Broad is the road that 
lead to destruction " ' ; an' he preach quite a sermon." 




Neighbors 

Reuben Snell lived far back in the woods. I was 
passing his place one day, and I stopped for a drink of 
water. Reuben himself drew some fresh from the well 
and handed me a gourd full. He was a pallid, peculiar- 
looking man, and I was not surprised when he said: " I 
been sick an' full of pains. My arm is thataway I 
can't wind the clock steady. I wind a little and my 
arm 'bleedged to drap. The devil he 'flicts a heap of 
people so they cain't hardly git along." 



ii6 Highways and Byways of the South 

The house was a Httle affair of two rooms. There 
was a loft over them, but it was too low for any use 
except "storing ole loose plunder." 

Mrs. Snell sat knitting in the kitchen doorway. 
" Whar do you live out when you're to home ?" she 
asked. 

" I live in Massachusetts," I replied. 

" Oh, in Boston," she commented. All through the 
South I found Boston was considered the equivalent of 
Massachusetts, if not of all New England. " That's 
sort o' north from hyar, ain't it ? " Mrs. Snell went 
on, " I ain't got no larnin', an' I cain't quite place it 
exact ; but hit's a good piece from hyar, I reckon. 
Thar was a man come to the settlement last year 
from New York or Injiana, or somewhere way back 
North." 

Mrs. Snell did her cooking over an open fire. " Me 
'n' Reuben like biled victuals on the fireplace the best," 
she explained ; " and Reuben, since he been like he is, 
and not got his mind right, he won't eat corn bread 
baked on the stove. I bake it in a skillet on the hearth. 
I putt my bread in and putt on the led, and heap coals 
and ashes on the led, and hit bakes nice." 

At one side of the house was a pile of thin, narrow, 
oak boards about three feet long, such as are substi- 
tuted very commonly in the rural South for shingles. 
" Reuben did 'em," said Mrs. Snell, " an' they ought 
to be on the ruf, but thar ain't enough yet. Hit's 



Among the Georgia Crackers iiy 

slow work for him, but them that's used to hit can spHt 
out a right chance of ruf boards directly." 

Near by was an orchard of apple and peach trees. 
" I can up a lot of the peaches, and I always dry some," 
Mrs. Snell informed me. 

" Peaches are powerful good for hogs," remarked 
Reuben. " We tote in great loads to 'em and the hogs 
git plumb fat. Our hogs use' to run in the woods 
befo' this new law was made, an' that save us from 
havin' to feed 'em a heap. Hit's the devil's law — 
this law agin lettin' your hogs run." 

" Do they have many niggers in the country whar 
you was raised ? " asked Mrs. Snell. " Thar's a sight 
o' niggers down hyar ; you're right thar is — What 
was that noise ? " 

She paused in her knitting and listened. 

" I hear a kind of screeching off beyond the 
orchard," said I. 

" Oh, then that's the Roberts boys. Mr. Roberts 
got a house over yonder. His boys they always a-hol- 
lerin'. They got so they hoi' their ban's together an' 
squeal through their fingers same like the noise of a 
pig squeal." 

1 mentioned some things the Shentons had told me 
of their war experiences, and Mrs. Snell said : " The 
time we had the fightin' right aroun' hyar, my home 
was jus' west of the settlement on the big road, an' the 
noise of the cannons and guns mighty near deefened 



ii8 Highways and Byways of the South 

me. The soldiers they trampled down my wheat 
which was headin' out, an' I had a young calf, an' they 
killed hit, an' I had two yearlings, an' they killed those. 
Them Northern soldiers they jus' robbed people. 
They tuk every knife an' fork I had, an' mos' every- 
thing else out of my house, I had a nice gyarden, an' 
they tore off the palin's an' pulled up my ing-uns an' 
potatoes. I had a cow, an' they said they would milk 
her; and I said, ' No, you won't — she'll hook you to 
death ; ' and she would, too, if they hadn't put up 
stakes all aroun' her until she couldn't hardly stir. I 
told 'em I hoped to God they might roost in hell for 
takin' my things, and they said if I didn't shut my 
mouth they'd shoot me down. Well, I tell you hit's 
bad — war is ! I never want to live to see nary' nother 
war to have to go through hit." 

Mrs. Snell now rose and prepared to go out and 
give her chickens their evening feed. She limped and 
used a cane. " Hit's my foot," said she. "We been 
havin' bad weather hyar till lately. Hit sot in an' 
rained, an' rained, an' rained. Hit's tolerable muddy 
when hit rains, an' I slipped in the mud an' give my 
foot a sprain." 

As she picked her slow way across the yard, I 
started back through the woods to the settlement. 
The trees were feathering into leafage, and the forest 
was brightened with blossoming shrubbery — dog- 
wood, honeysuckle, " ivory," and redbud. The last 



Among the Georgia Crackers 



119 



was especially conspicuous — every bush a pink cloud 
of bloom. When I came into the open, I found Mr, 
Shenton's grandsons " sprouting in the new ground," 




Returning from the Hen-house 

that is, cutting brush on land where the timber had 
been recently cleared off. They were piling up the 
rubbish and burning it. Two of the smaller boys 
had manufactured hickory whistles, and piped on those 



I20 Highways and Byways of the South 

more than they sprouted. Clearing new ground was 
a common occupation at this season among the 
farmers, and the crackHng brush heaps seemed like 
altar fires of spring — sacrificial offerings to the deities 
of nature to secure an abundant harvest. Blue smoke- 
drifts arose from many a field, and the whole quiet 
evening landscape was veiled in gauzy haze. 



IN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS 




A Drink at the Spring 



THE eastern 
portion of 
Tennessee is 
a wilderness of forest 
and tortuous valleys 
and rude ridges, and 
where these ridges lift 
themselves highest, on 
the extreme borders 
of the state, they are 
known as the Great 
Smoky Mountains. 
Thither 1 journeyed 
and found a stopping- 
place at a large, white, 
two-story house on 
Wolf Creek. The 
house stood beside an 
old highway that went 
through the mountain 



valleys from Tennessee to North Carolina, and it had 
been a tavern previous to the building of the railroad. 



122 Highways and Byways of the South 

In those old days the thoroughfare which now seemed 
so quiet was enlivened with constant traffic, and the 
dwellers along the way could rarely look out on it and 
not see some passing team or horseback rider. 




An Old-time Tavern 

The tavern had a broad porch with a balcony above, 
extending nearly its whole length, and there was a 
passage through the middle to an ornamental garden 
in the rear, where were flowers and paths and many 
quaintly trimmed clumps of boxwood. At a little 
remove were several ruinous log cabins that had been 
the slave quarters before the war. The valley was 
narrow, and round about were tumbled hills, and be- 



In the Tennessee Mountains 123 

yond the hills rose rugged mountain ranges bristling 
with interminable forest. This was the first genuine 
mountain country I had seen in the South, and I 
found it delightful. 

While I was sojourning here, an elderly man by the 
name of Gliddon was one day present at dinner. He 
was an old friend of the tavern family, and, after we 
had eaten, he and my landlord sat a long time visiting 
on the porch, and I sat with them. It was uncom- 
monly hot out in the sunshine, and the cool comfort 
of the porch was very agreeable. Two young collies 
were frisking about the yard with intervals of lolling 
in the shade. A colony of English sparrows twittered 
from some ivy-grown tree trunks of the garden, a 
peabody-bird whistled in the woodland, and Wolf 
Creek, only a few rods distant, tinkled musically 
along over its stone-strewn course. 

My companions were valley folk, though living 
on the wilderness borders. But the wilderness was 
nowhere what it had been fifty or even twenty-five 
years ago. " The bears used to carry off my grand- 
father's hogs right here on this place," said my land- 
lord. " Yes, and we've had wolves and panthers in 
the valley within twenty years." ^ 

Now these creatures had vanished, and the invading 
sawmills had pushed into the remotest depths ot the 
woodlands, and had denuded the mountains of all their 
finest timber. 



124 Highways and Byways of the South 

" Thar's few schools and no facihties back hyar on 
the Great Smokies," observed Mr. GHddon, "and 
yo'd be surprise' how ignorant the people are — even 
the preachers. Why ! some of those preachers don't 
know a letter in the book — 'twould make a dog 
laugh — their ignorance. But the people are great 
ban's for religion, and it's a common saying they got 
mo' religion an' less morals than yo'll find anywhere 
else in the world. Ain't that so, Steve ? " asked Mr. 
Gliddon in conclusion, turning to my landlord. 

" Yes," replied Steve, " and I c'n tell you a story 
to illustrate it. Over on Pigeon River thar's a man 
that claim he been dead and come to life. He say 
he went to heaven for half an hour, and he met Christ 
there, and the man, he tell Christ about the road he 
had come, an' how lonesome it was, and he ask Christ 
if that was raelly the road to heaven. ' Hit was all 
grass-grown,' he say. ' Hit mus' be ve'y few ever go 
to heaven if that the road,' he say. And Christ say, 
* Yes, that the road to heaven, but that not the only 
road. That jus' the road from East Tennessee.' 

"To my thinkin', though," Steve continued, "the 
people here don't begin to be so rough as they are 
over the line in North Carolina; and the women there 
are worse than the men. I,ots o' those North Caro- 
lina women will take a man an' whack him all about. 
They awful people for the law there, too, and always 
suing. I never did see the like." 



In the Tennessee Mountains 



125 




A Mountain Mill 



" Thar's some good people over in North Carolina/' 
commented Mr. Gliddon, " but thar ain't enough of 
'em. That's puttin' it putty strong, perhaps, an' 
I don't know but I ought to say what Uncle Ned 



126 Highways and Byways of the South 

Cooper always say at the end of his speak at prayer- 
meetin' : 'Brethren,' says he, 'if I've said anythin' 
amiss to-day I hope you and the Lord will forgive 
me. 

" Uncle Ned has his own way of talking," observed 
Steve, " but for downright queerness of talk the moun- 
tain folks beat all. The other day a man was down 
here after the doctor, an' he say, ' Doctor, my wife 
done drap dead. I want yo' to come an' see her.' 

" And the doctor say, ' If she's dead, you don't want 
me, you want the coroner.' 

"' No,' the feller says, ' she ain't plumb dead. She 
only drap dead.' He meant she'd fainted." 

" Some o' those mountain girls look almost like var- 
mints," said Mr. Gliddon, " and I don't reckon they've 
been washed in their lives ; but you educate 'em an' 
give 'em a chance, an' they come out fine appearin' 
women." 

" You was speakin' of a yoke of steers you wanted 
to sell," remarked Steve, after a pause. " Have they 
been broke ? " 

" No. Two or three fellers have wanted to break 
'em, but I was afraid they'd break their necks. I 
should think you could use an extry yoke of critters 
to advantage if yo're goin' to work that stony land 
up the creek you ploughed lately. What you calculate 
to do thar, anyway ? " 

" I'm goin' to put in corn." 



In the Tennessee Mountains 127 

" By gosh ! that won't do. I'll insure I'll carry all 
the corn yo'll raise thar on my back. The land's too 
pore, and it's too stony. I reckon your blacksmith's 
bill for keepin' your plough sharp while you was 
ploughin' in them stones must 've amounted to mor'n 
the corn '11 be worth." 

Steve's wife had come to the door. " That's what 
I think," she declared. " That's what I been tellin' 
him." 

" Well, it's no use," Mr. Gliddon responded. " I 
know Steve. He's strong-headed, Steve is, and yo' 
cain't do nothing with him. But he won't never raise 
corn again on that land, even if he gets a good crap 
this fall. It's too near that thar place up thar whar 
they make blockade whiskey. Those moonshiners 
air boun' to steal every year of corn they c'n lay 
hands on within five mile of their still, no matter how 
honest they air. I found out whar that thar still is 
some time ago, and they hadn't any objection, because 
they know I'd jus' be bus' wide open befo' I'd tell." 

" Blockade whiskey is the only whiskey made that's 
fit to drink," said Steve, judicially. " It's pure. It 
ain't pizen, like the doctored whiskey that's paid the 
government revenue." 

I gathered from Mr. Gliddon's and Steve's conver- 
sation that illicit distilling went on about the same it had 
for many years. Comparatively little of the whiskey 
is taken out of the mountains, and the distillers do not 



128 Highways and Byways of the South 

find its production very profitable under present con- 
ditions. They continue as poor as ever, yet in their 
view the manufiicture is one of their rights, and they 
will persist in it. Steve affirmed that if the govern- 
ment would spend the money it now spends ferreting 
out the moonshiners for education in the same region, 
it would accomplish much more in destroying the 
business than it does. He did not think the revenue 




In an Upland Corn-field 



In the Tennessee Mountains 129 

officers were very effective. It was almost impossible 
for them to find the stills unless some moonshiner 
betrayed his fellows, and frequently the officers were 
more intent on getting profit out of their labors than 
in really destroying the stills. They are paid a certain 
sum for each successful foray, and "they will take a 
hack out of a still " to show for the purpose of getting 
their reward, and leave the still in shape to be readily 
put in order again. After a while they make another 
raid on the same still, hack out a piece of the worm, 
and secure a second reward. One local still had been 
broken up thus five times. 

" If I ain't mistaken, I heered some one sayin' that 
youngest Beasley was married yesterday," remarked 
Mr. Gliddon, changing the subject. 

"Yes," replied Steve, "married Hannah Hosford." 
" Lor' a mercy ! Did she take him ? He's plumb 
shiftless, an' thar never was an honest Beasley yet. 
She knew what he was, too, an' had all the chance in 
the world to get shet of him. Well, women jus' will 
be cheated. It was two of them Beasleys killed Widow 
Mifflin's cow years ago, when I was squire. They had 
some grudge agin the widow, an' they took the cow an' 
tied its legs together an' rolled it down a bluff into the 
river. Thar wa'n't a bone in its body but what was 
broke. The case was tried before me. I didn't quite 
like that, because the Beasleys had always voted for me 
an' the Mifflin's had always voted agin me. But I 



130 Highways and Byways of the South 

wouldn't 'a' found in fiivor of my best brother under 
the circumstances, an' 1 gave the widow a judgment 
for twenty doHars. Later, Dave Beasley, who was the 
worst of the two that did that trick with the widow's 
cow, was lodged in the penitentiary after bein' caught 
with his pockets full of that 'ar counterfeit gold that 
was made up on Big Creek." 

" Dave was a bad citizen," my landlord commented, 
" and Alf Weems is another of the same sort." 

" That's so," echoed Mr. Gliddon. " Thar ain't 
a dangder scoundrel ever trod shoe-leather. Yet I sort 
o' like him. I cain't help it. He ain't no coward. 
He'd hit ary man on earth that went contrary to him. 
I ricolect when he was so porehewa'n't worth a nickel, 
but he's jus' got the dough now. You know where it 
come from. We ain't so particular about honesty as 
we use' to be. I swear to goodness, when I was a boy, 
if a man was ketched stealin', he was kicked out of every 
decent crowd." 

" Wa'n't it Alf's father that Bill Jackson shot in 
Arkansaw ? " Steve inquired. 

" Yes," was Mr. Gliddon's response, and then he told 
how in some gambling affair twelve men had assaulted 
Bill's father and killed him, and how Bill took it on 
himself to be avenged, and at last he succeeded in 
killing every one of the twelve, even following and 
searching out one in " Arkansaw " and another in 
Texas. 



In the Tennessee Mountains 



131 



This episode recalled to Steve the lawless violence 
that prevailed in war time and the years immediately- 




Evening on the Porch 

following. " Everything was mixed up then," he ex- 
plained. " Some of our people around here fought on 



132 Highways and Byways of the South 

the Union side and some on the Southern side, fami- 
lies were divided, and the feuds growing out of the war 
made trouble for a long time. In the war we never 
knew what was goin' to happen. We'd have Union 
soldiers stopping at our house in the morning and per- 
haps Rebels at night. Then there was a guerilla band 
made their headquarters in the valley. They were a 
wild crowd. Some of 'em had deserted from the 
Rebels and served with the Yankees, and when that 
didn't suit 'em, they had deserted again and become 
guerillas. They never hesitated to attack twice their 
number, and they were constantly capturing Yankee 
scouting parties. There was as many as twenty-five of 
'em at first, but they got killed off, so by the end of the 
war only about half a dozen of 'em was left." 

" They was up to all sorts of devilment," Mr. Glid- 
don affirmed, " an' the people on their own side here 
didn't like 'em much better than the Yankees did. You 
remember that 'ar guerilla named Fowler, an' how he 
was at the blacksmith's shop one day when Tom Allen 
hollered for Lincoln ? Fowler picked up a piece of 
iron an' hit Tom, an' Tom fell down dead. I was 
a Rebel an' always expect to be, but I didn't approve 
of that. It was a cold-blooded murder. However, 
thar wa'n't nothin' done about it, an' the nex' year 
Fowler shot in among some girls while he was drunk. 
He went home, an' that feller Carleton follered him. 
Fowler had gone up to the gallery an' was lyin' asleep 



In the Tennessee Mountains 133 

in a hammock, an' Carleton dimbed up a ladder an' 
grab Fowler by the leg an' begun a jerkin' of him, an' 
when he woke up, Carleton killed him. Well, he 
needed killin'. He was jus' nachully mean. The 
other guerillas took his body an' had a funeral. They 
tried to hold kind of a religious service, an' when they 
was gathered round the grave, they wanted to sing a 
hymn, but it's told that they didn't know none, so they 
sang their favorite war song : — 

** ' I'D eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry. 
And if the Yankees don't ketch me I'll live till I die.' " 

The next day succeeding the afternoon that I spent 
on the old tavern porch I set forth up the creek into 
the mountains. The road was very bad. It was nar- 
row and often steep, and in places so rough and stony 
as to seem almost impassible. The stream should 
have been clear and there should have been speckled 
trout in its pools ; but so much sawdust had been 
" throwed into the creek by the sawmills that the water 
was right sickly," and the fish that once swarmed had 
died off. The choppers had cleared the slopes on 
either hand pretty thoroughly, yet a good many trees 
had been left in the more inaccessible depths of the 
gorge, and the finest of them were a delight to the eyes, 
they were so tall and stalwart and straight-stemmed. 
What a wonderful architect nature is in fashioning these 
pillars for her forest temples ! 



134 Highways and Byways of the South 

One mill was still at work in the valley — a rude, 
temporary affair environed by heaps of sawdust and 
great piles of freshly sawed, odorous lumber ; and near 
by was a cluster of shanties occupied by the help and 
the mule teams. As I went on I began to find some 
of the little farms of the natives. The houses were 
low structures of logs. I stopped at one of them. It 
was across the stream from the road. In mid-creek a 
log was lodged and served as a support for a plank 
extending to it from either shore. I went over to the 
dwelling by this plank footbridge. Several women and 
children were sitting out in front and the entire con- 
vention appeared to be engaged in absorbing nicotine 
from their snuff-dips. They were very cordial and a 
chair was vacated for me. Less promiscuous rubbish 
than is usual lay about the place, and for this dearth 
apologv was made on the score that the family had 
only moved in " Sunday was a week ago." They had 
brought their goods five miles over the mountain on a 
sled shod with wooden runners, and the vehicle, accord- 
ing to the matron of the home group, had slipped 
along " tolerable well on smooth groun' ; but I tell you 
where hit was rough hit jus' went bumpity bump. I 
brought the chickens myself," she continued. " I took 
a stout cord and tied 'em by the legs, half at one end 
of the cord and half at the other end, and so balanced 
*em over my shoulder." 

While we talked a number of pigs were industri- 




Diri'iNG Snuff 



In the Tennessee Mountains 135 

ously rooting close by, but now one came and gave an 
investigating poke to the dog which was lying stretched 
comfortably beside the doorstep. That roused the 
dog's temper and there was an uproar of growls and 
squeals and shouts of " Tige, yo' leave that pig alone 
— don't be so smart ! " 

The sky had been growing dull and threatening, 
and when I resumed my journey, the slender shut-in 
trail among the great trees was very gloomy. Soon 
the road began to climb in a steep zigzag up a moun- 
tain side and for miles I was in uninterrupted forest 
and met not a soul ; but when I reached the uplands 
and was among the rolling summits of the Great 
Smokies, there were habitations once more and occa- 
sional little patches of cleared land. 

The mountain cabin in which I found shelter was 
the home of a family named Hudnut. It was fully 
twice as commodious as the average houses of the 
region and had four rooms in the body of the house, 
and a cook-room in a semi-detached ell. Only the last 
was supplied with windows and the others were cavern- 
ously dark. The living room had an enormous fire- 
place, built of rough stones gathered from the fields. 
Stones of the same sort had been used in laying the 
hearth which projected, uneven and deeply creviced, 
well out into the room. The log walls were partially 
pasted over with newspapers. The cook-room was 
simply a smoke-blackened, board-walled shed. In a 



136 Highways and Byways of the South 

corner was a little stove propped up on blocks and 
the pipe was run out through the boarding. Near the 
stove was the corn-meal chest. This was replenished 
" wunst a week," for the mountain families like to 
have their meal fresh. Some carried the grist on 
horseback, some on steerback, others on their own 
shoulders. It was no great burden, a half bushel 
being usually as much as was needed. 

The life of the mountain people was very primitive, 
and a large proportion of their needs was supplied by 
their own fields and pastures. Woolwheels were in 
common use for spinning stocking-yarn, and the old 
hand-looms were still operated in occasional families 
for the production of homespun. The crops raised 
were corn, Irish and sweet potatoes and sorghum, 
with perhaps a few cabbages and other of the 
ordinary garden vegetables. There might be a little 
surplus in some of these crops that was sold, but in 
the main the people depended on the butter, eggs, 
chickens, and turkeys they carried to the valley to 
obtain the few store goods that seemed essential. 
Blackberries, huckleberries, and raspberries were plenti- 
ful, and the women picked what they chose to use. 
They could have marketed great quantities had their 
situation been less remote. 

One evening as I was sitting down with the Hud- 
nuts to supper in the cook-room, a man walked in with 
a gun. " Howdy, howdy, Andy — howdy, Mag," was 



In the Tennessee Mountains 137 

his greeting to Mr. and Mrs. Hudnut, and he was 
invited to draw up to the table and eat. Before he 
accepted this invitation, he took from his pocket a 
small bottle wrapped in paper and put it on the shelf. 
The bottle contained sweet oil, and he had walked 
twenty miles that day to get it. I soon learned that 
he was a mountain genius. He wandered about mak- 
ing his home with this family or that wherever night 
chanced to find him, he helped some with the farm 
work, he shot wild game with his gun, and he found 
desultory employment as a physician. His specialty 
in the last role was a stomach and backache medicine 
and cures for rheumatism and dropsy, all of his own 
manufacture. The sweet oil was an ingredient for one 
of these medicines, and he mentioned also using " mul- 
lein and evergreen biled together " and " a yearb called 
golden seal." 

" I golly, I've cyored a heap with them medicines," 
the doctor declared. " I've knowed people swole up 
with the dropsy till they mos' ready to bu'st, and their 
minds made up they wa'n't long for this kentry, and 
then I've cyored 'em." 

" The slickest cyore yo' ever did," remarked Andy, 
" was of ' Lish ' Walford's boy." 

" Yes," acknowledged the doctor, " he was a awful 
sick chile when I got to the house, and he was too 
small to tell what the matter was ; but I made out the 
trouble was in his stomach, and I ask his folks a few 



TjS Highways and Byways of the South 

questions, and it appear he'd been playin' with the 
cat. I knew then right off he'd been swallerin' some 
cat hairs. So I give him an epidemic, and he threw 
up, and in a Httle while he was well as ever. You was 
thar, Mag," the doctor said, turning to Mrs. Hudnut. 
" Wa'n't that the way of it ? " 

" He was sure cyored," replied Mag. 

At length the doctor glanced toward me with the 
inquiry, " Where mought you have come from ? " 

"I'm from Massachusetts," I responded. 

" Massachusetts," repeated Mag, doubtfully ; " I 
'low I'll look that thar up on the map sometime. I'd 
like to see jus' whar that is." 

" Is it near Kansas? " asked Andy. 

" You have to cross a part of the ocean to get to 
Kansas from Tennessee, I believe," said Mag. 

"Thar was a Massachusetts man hyar year befo' 
las'," announced the doctor, " an' he say hit was two 
thousan' miles from hyar to thar ; an' he say they had 
deep snow thar six months in the year ; an' he say a 
man couldn't marry thar unless he had three or fo' 
hundred dollars and a house." 

" Hit seem like to me," said Andy, " yo' not find it 
very easy going home thar's so many roads and cross- 
roads. I'd be afeard I'd lose the way and never git 
thar." 

"The farthest I ever went was over near Ashville in 
North Carolina," the doctor remarked. " I wanted to 




An Inhabitant of the Mountains 



In the Tennessee Mountains 139 

see the house Vanderbilt got over thar an' I started 
early an' I walked plumb thar agin dark ^ sixty-five 
mile. That thar house is made ot square rocks, all as 
white as chalk." 

" Thar's some people hyar been good long jour- 
neys," said Andy, " and others hain't. Thar's an ole 
woman at the nex' house up the road was raised on 
t'other side of Brushy Mountains, and when she mar- 
ried she moved over to this side an' ain't been any- 
whar else." 

After supper we went into the living room. On 
one of the beds lay the baby. " Ah, little Joe, little 
Joe," the doctor said caressingly ; " ain't he like his 
daddy ? " 

On the other bed sat a sleepy small boy about four 
years old, and when his mother came in from her work 
in the cook-room, she slipped off his trousers and 
tucked him into the bedclothes. Then she took the 
baby and sat down beside the fireplace. Two or three 
crickets were singing on the hearth, cheered by the 
warmth of the flickering fire. Andy lit a lamp, but it 
had no chimney, and did not burn very well. He 
blew out the light and pinched off the charred end ot 
the wick with his fingers. Then he relit it and 
it behaved better, though it still flared and smoked 
some. 

In the course of our conversation the doctor men- 
tioned going through " Scratchankle." 



140 Highways and Byways of the South 

" What's that ? " I asked. 

" Hit's the name of a holler whar the chu'ch is, 
about two mile from hyar." 

" And do the people about here all attend church at 
Scratchankle ? " I questioned. 

" Yes, everybody that's able. Some walk an' 
some go on their horses. Mag, she ride thar horse- 
back an' so do lots of other woman. I go, too, but 
the preachin' don't suit me. The only place I ever 
beared religion an' the gospel preached in their purity 
was at the Methodis' chu'ch over to Shelly Rock 
five or six year ago. Preacher Brice was thar an' 
he knowed how to talk, an' people wep' over that 
sermon an' they weep over hit yet. They had a great 
rejoicin' an' they prayed an' shouted an' eve'ythin' 
else an' thar was a heap o' confessions made." 

Bedtime comes early among the mountaineers, and 
we did not linger long around the fire. Rising-time 
also comes early, and in the first gray of the morning 
some one entered my apartment and got a gun. When 
I went out on the porch a half hour later, Andy and 
the doctor were just returning from the woods whither 
they had been in quest of some wild turkeys they had 
heard gobbling. The turkeys escaped them, but they 
brought in a gray squirrel they had shot. Andy said 
the squirrels and turkeys were more plentiful than any 
of the other wild " varmints " of the mountains. He 
mentioned seeing a " b'ar " the previous winter, and he 



In the Tennessee Mountains 



141 




Ploughing among the Girdled Chestnuts 

had recently heard the cry of a painter. " Hit's Hke 
a woman's cry," said he. " Yo' hear that in the night 
an' hit 'II raise the ha'r on yore head." 

The doctor ampHfied the list of game by adding 
" turkle doves, 'possums, and whistlepigs." The 
whistlepigs, or woodchucks as we would call them in the 
North, get very fat in the autumn feeding on chest- 
nuts. " You take 'em that time of year," explained 
the doctor, " and parbile 'em, and pour off the water, 
and then salt and pepper 'em and bile 'em agin, and 
after that bake 'em and they're all right. I love a 
parbiled groundhog, and I've e't a many of 'em. 
Didn't you ever eat whistlepig ? " 



I42 Highways and Byways of the South 

" I got to go up over the mountain to-day," said 
Andv, " to git some roughness " — that is, cow-fodder 
or hay. " My cattle ain't begun to Hve yet, and they 
won't begin to hve for two weeks. The season's late 
and my roughness is clean gone." 

I found it was a common complaint in the moun- 
tains that the cattle had not begun to live, and this 
state of affairs wouki continue until the forest buds 
got a good start and the cows could be turned out in 
the woods to browse. As yet the twigs were bare of 
leafage, and the swelling buds had not thrown off their 
scales. The only trees that looked really springlike 
were the occasional maples, or " sugar trees," as they 
are called. These had tasselled out in light green 
bloom. " You c'n git good sugar from them trees," 
Andy informed me. " We made twenty-five pounds 
of sugar-tree sugar this year." 

Evergreens were almost entirely lacking on the 
heights, and the predominant trees were chestnuts — 
enormous, big-armed, and patriarchal and seemingly 
as ancient as the summits on which they grew. I 
went with Andy in his quest for roughness, and in the 
midst of the chestnut woods on one of the lottier 
slopes we stopped to speak with a man who was 
getting some new land ready for the plough. The 
settler's wife and little girl were helping him by pick- 
ing up the smaller rubbish while he rolled the logs 
out of the way. Most of the trees were yet stand- 




^"rrr-iwfi 



Pioneer Homemakers 



In the Tennessee Mountains 143 

ing ; but they were dead and bare, for they had been 
girdled. 

The log-house in which the family lived had been 
recently built and close by it was the hole, still unfilled, 
whence had been dug the " mud " used to daub the 
chimney and fill in the chinks between the logs. The 
outbuildings were only half finished and everything 
was raw and new. The family were in fact genuine 
pioneers, carving out a home in the wilderness in just 
the same way as had the earliest settlers of colonial 
days. 

I asked if the little girl went to school, and the 
mother replied : " Yes, and she was the least one of 
'em all. She's only five year old, and some of the 
big ones was nineteen or twenty. Hyar, Mary, git 
down off that thar stump and say yore speech — that 
one yo' spoke at the exhibition, last day. She's mem- 
orized I don't know how many speeches." 

So the little girl came down from the stump and 
her mother pulled off the child's sunbonnet. Then 
the tot stood very straight, and in piping monotone 
recited the jingling verse or two that constituted her 
" speech." 

A mile farther on, in a swampy hollow by the road- 
side, was the schoolhouse — a lonely forest hut with 
no dwelling near. The woods around had been much 
thinned and devastated by the lumbermen, and the 
schoolhouse had been originally " putt up for the sawmill 



144 Highways and Byways of the South 

hands to shack in." Its predecessor, which was of logs, 
had fallen down about the time the sawmill finished work 
in the vicinity, and this little building was left vacant 
very opportunely and was promptly taken possession 
of by the school. The structure measured twelve by 
fourteen feet, and the eaves were barely six feet from the 
ground. The only furnishings were a tiny blackboard 
and a few plank benches that had a pair of well-slanted 
legs inserted at each end. For heating purposes there 
was a rough stone fireplace, but the walls were full of 
cracks and some of the boards were missing altogether, 
so that the fire could not have warmed the room very 
effectively. However, school did not keep in the 
winter. The single yearly term was four months long 
and began the first Monday in August. The last 
teacher had been a young woman from Shelly Rock. 
Her salary was twenty dollars a month and out of 
this she paid a dollar a week for board. I thought 
she probably helped with the housework at her board- 
ing-place to get so low a rate, but Andy said, " No, 
all she done was her own washing and ironing on 
Saturdays." 

She brought a chair from home for her personal use 
at the schoolhouse, the building not being provided 
with any such luxury, and she took the chair back with 
her at the end of the term. The last day had been a 
great occasion, and the mountain folks all turned out 
to the exhibition. The children trimmed the room 



In the Tennessee Mountains 



H5 



with greenery and made a little bower in one corner 
and carpeted the floor in that corner with soft moss. 
On this forest carpet they stood when they said their 




A Woodland Schoolhouse 



speeches. The scholars numbered twenty-seven and 
not much spare space was left in the shack for visitors, 
yet some contrived to squeeze in along the walls and 



146 Highways and Byways of the South 

the rest peered through the breaks and the cracks. 
To add to the attraction of the exercises one moun- 
taineer brought his fiddle and another a banjo and 
" played some nice music." 

Of all I saw in my wanderings among the Great 
Smokies nothing remains more vivid than the remem- 
brance of that woodland schoolhouse and of the last 
day as described by Andy Hudnut. How picturesque 
that gathering in and about the little building must 
have been, and how strikingly the interest manifested 
shows the charm that education has for the mountain 
people ! 



VI 



THE BIRTHPLACE OF LINCOLN 




o 



N my way to 
the Lincoln 
country I 
stopped at a dismal 
little place called 
Glasgow Junction, 
and went thence nine 
miles out into the 
country to see the 
Mammoth Cave. A 
branch railway con- 
nects the main line 
with the cave, but 
while I was at the 
junction station, one 
of the local inhab- 
itants accosted me 
and inveigled me into hiring a team. Having made a 
bargain with me, he went off to his house to hitch up 
and presently appeared with a dilapidated buggy and 
an ancient horse garbed in a patched and knotted har- 

147 



The Entrance to the Mammoth Cave 



148 Highways and Byways of the South 

ness. I think I would have hesitated to trust myself 
to the dubious conveyance had I known how full of 
rocks and petrified ruts the road was that we were to 
travel. The Southern custom is to " work the roads " 
in the fall, and the tracks cut by the wagon wheels in 
the winter mud are retained by the clay, which is the 
most common soil, all through the summer. 

The region round about the cave is hilly ; but in- 
stead of watercourses and ravines, there are numerous 
rounded, basinlike hollows known as sink-holes. Often 
the sink-holes are acres in extent. The turf sweeps 
unbroken to the bottom of the basins, and the rainfall 
drains away by hidden outlets in the subterranean lime- 
stone. Their form and frequency has given the name 
of" Goose-nest land " to that part of Kentucky where 
thev are most abundant. Some of them contain a 
pool of water, and these muddy ponds, though small, 
are frequently deep, and manv of them are never dry. 
The permanent pools have fish in them, and my driver 
pointed out one in which he reported fish to have been 
seen as large as a man. Besides these natural pools 
there were many artificial basins scooped out in the 
farm barnyards to serve as watering-places for stock, 
and the creatures that get used to this stagnant liquid 
prefer it to pure running water, " even if it do git 
bilin' hot in summer." 

The houses I saw along our way were mostly log 
cabins or small and flimsy frame buildings, and the 



The Birthplace of Lincohi 149 

land was poor and much overgrown with brushy 
woods. Once a gray rabbit skipped down the road 
ahead of us, and then leaped lightly aside into the 
bushes. My driver pulled up his horse and stepped 
cautiously out. He whistled enticingly to Bunny who 
had stopped and was peering at us. The driver 
picked up a stone and heaved it at the little creature, 
and the rabbit hastily sought cover. 

" I mos' hit him," ejaculated my companion; "and 
I have killed 'em thataway — I shorely have! Well, 
I don't care. They not much good this time o' year. 
The meat too dry. Cold weather, it is best." 

My driver had a good deal to say concerning the 
Mammoth Cave. He told of its river and eyeless 
fish; of its five levels, the highest series of galleries 
being three hundred and fifty feet above the lowest ; 
and he told how a cool current of air flows from the 
cavern in summer, and how the chill outside air of 
winter is drawn inward. The cave was discovered 
about one hundred years ago by a hunter, who entered 
it to secure a wounded bear which had there found 
shelter; but of course the hunter learned nothing of 
the cavern's extent. The country was then uninhab- 
ited. Later, when the region began to fill up, tradition 
says that the cave and a hundred acres ot land were 
exchanged for a pony. The next sale was in 1830, 
when, with five hundred acres, it brought ten thousand 
dollars. The land alone was perhaps worth a dollar 



150 Highways and Byways of the South 

an acre, but the cave had already begun to be famous 
and to draw visitors. These visitors now number 
about six thousand a year. 

" There's such a lot of 'em," said my driver, " hit 
seem like every one git to see it befo' this ; but I 
s'pose new young folks keep growin' up, an' so they 
keep comin'. We only know the cave got one en- 
trance, but they say an ole darkey wunst went through 
hit and come out another place 'leven mile away. 
The people what own the cave didn't want no busi- 
ness done except at the ole entrance, and they bought 
off the nigger not to tell for seven hundred dollars ; 
and he never did tell, and now he dead and gone. 

" Thar's plenty o' folks lived round hyar all their 
days, an' never been into the Mammoth Cave. We 
people hyar don't think so much of goin' into a cave 
as we do of takin' a ride. We all got caves. There's 
a cave on every farm, and sometimes three or four. 
I got a right smart little cave on my farm. Hit's 
two mile long and maybe longer. I ain't seen hit 
all yit. I go in thar wunst in a while, and I always 
have to be careful to take a newspaper with me an' 
tear it up an' drap the pieces along, so't I c'n fin' my 
way back. You see this house we're passin', and that 
bunch o' bushes nex' the gyardin. Thar's a cave in 
them bushes. They started to dig a well thar, an' the 
bottom fell out, and they found the cave. An ole 
nigger lives in that house alone with one little nigger 



The Birthplace of Lincoln 151 

boy. He kind of crippled, and las' winter, when the 
weather come on col', he couldn't git wood, an' he 
burned up two cheers and a basket." 

To visit the Mammoth Cave you must apply at a 
big hotel near the entrance. This hotel is the only 
building in the vicinity. It is a low, old-fashioned, 
rambling structure with a skirting of wide verandas, 
and all around is the forest. The path to the cave 
leads into a deep, wooded glen, and there you find a 
gaping hole — a hole that would ingulf a good-sized 
house. The path continues down the grassy slope of 
the gentler side of the aperture, and then a low, black 
passage slants at a slight incline down into the earth. 

I spent several hours in the cave, yet I cannot say 
that I found it anywhere inspiring or charming. It 
was stupendous and curious, and at the same time 
grewsome and melancholy and colorless — everywhere 
those dull gray walls stained with patches of black, 
while underfoot was hard, reddish dirt like the fine 
silt of a river-bed, and a strewing of broken rock. 
In places my guide conducted me through narrow 
crevices, or we stooped along under a low-hanging 
roof, or loitered in lofty galleries, or we crossed 
wooden bridges spanning yawning chasms and " bot- 
tomless " pits. These pits, however, never failed to 
reveal a bottom when the guide tossed down a bit of 
flaming cotton. Most of the cave is quite dry. The 
roof is too good to allow the percolating water much 



152 Highways and Byways of the South 

chance to beautify the dull passages with frescoings of 
stalactites and vistas of fluted columns. What inter- 
ested me most in the cave was its connection with lite. 
For instance, there were bats flitting in the gloomy 
channel at the entrance and clinging to the walls of the 
near galleries by thousands. Here they hibernate, but 
they were beginning to arouse themselves from their 
long sleep, and in a few days would all be gone to 
the outer world for the summer. Then there were 
numerous remains of old vats and wooden piping used 
in 1812 in manufacturing nitre for gunpowder from the 
cavern earth, the process consisting of leaching the 
earth with water to dissolve the nitre and then boiling 
down the resulting solution. You can even see in the 
hard dirt the old-time cart tracks and the print of ox 
hoofs. In one passage are two or three substantially 
built habitations which were the homes for five months 
in 1842 of thirteen consumptives. The cave tempera- 
ture is always just fifty-four degrees, and the consump- 
tives hoped the unchanging coolness and atmospheric 
quiet would be beneficial. What a forlorn time they 
must have had in that noiseless, gloomy tomb ! How 
depressing the unending night ! One died in the cave 
and the others came out unhelped. 

The cavern walls are scratched with names, and the 
lower ceilings are lettered with sooty candle smoke 
that is more imperishable here than the deepest chisel- 
ling in rocks exposed to the open air. In many places 



The Birthplace of Lincoln 153 

along the passages are cairns of stones, one for every 
state and nation and fraternal order, and tor every large 
party that has visited the place. The most romantic 
at the rooms was one containing a "bridal altar " formed 
by a group of columns. At this altar a dozen or more 
couples have been married. The first couple chose 
this place because the young woman had vowed she 
"would not marry any man on the face of the earth." 

Once my guide took all the lights and left me in 
the dense, silent darkness. Such a void I had never 
been in, and he was gone so long I began to wonder 
what I could do if he failed to return. It would be 
absolutely hopeless trying to find one's way out of 
that black labyrinth of one hundred and fifty miles. 
The guide had gone into a side passage, and when he 
reappeared he manipulated his light so as to simulate 
the sunrise, and he added to the effect by imitating the 
crowing of a rooster and the flapping of its wings. 
This and much else was odd and interesting ; but 
nothing I saw or experienced made me desire to pro- 
tract my stay in those dismal depths, and 1 was not 
sorry when we returned to the upper world with its 
life-giving sunlight, its breezes and shifting skies, its 
flowers and green foliage. 

Now that I had seen the great cave I went in search 
of the birthplace of the most belovxd ot American 
presidents — Abraham Lincoln. He began life about 
sixty miles south of Louisville in central Kentucky. 



154 Highways and Byways of the South 

There, near Hodgensville, his father bought a little 
farm and built a humble cabin, and this cabin was 




Hodgensville 

the future president's home for four years. Hodgens- 
ville is the county seat, but it is not much of a place 
— just a few stores and shops grouped around a two- 
story brick court-house that adjoins an open square 
of hard-trodden earth. On the square the country 
people hitch their horses to some lines of railings set 
up there for the purpose. Possibly a third of the 
horses are attached to vehicles and the rest merely 
saddled. Many of them had colts tagging about them 
at the time of my spring visit, and the rustic look of 
the village was farther emphasized by numerous cows 



The Birthplace of Lincoln 155 

that wandered through or lingered in the streets. 
Once while I was in the town there was an alarm of 
fire. I heard the sudden shouts, and then the clang- 
ing of the court-house bell, and I saw wisps of smoke 
rising through the roof of a dwelling that stood among 
the village stores. The public ways were immediately 
full of people, running and excited, and a group of citi- 
zens appeared from somewhere with ladders and a 
hand engine. Everybody who could caught hold of 
a rope attached to the engine and rushed the machine 
with great clatter and tumult over to a well in the 
square. Then the hose was hitched on, and a half- 
dozen men on each side began to work the pumping- 
bars up and down. This display of energy was too 
much for the fire, and it promptly succumbed, and the 
engine and hose were left for the boys to play with 
the rest of the day. 

The region around Hodgensville is one of broad, 
cultivated fields and grazing land, intermitting with 
patches of oak and hickory forest. Everywhere are 
scattered farm-houses, and the older ones are constructed 
of logs. The spot where formerly stood the Lincoln 
cabin is three miles from the town, in the middle of a 
big pasture. A rough pole has been set up to mark 
the site. This pole is at the top of a slight rise with 
locust thickets near by, and down the hill is what is 
known as "The Lincoln Spring." No doubt the place 
for the dwelling was selected with a view to being con- 



156 Highways and Byways of the South 

venient to this water-supply. The spring is at the 
bottom of a sink-hole, where the underlying limestone 
has given way and left a ragged chasm about a dozen 
feet deep. The break exposes an outjutting ledge on 
one side, while on the other is a steep slope of earth 




The Site of the Lincohi Cabin 



and shattered stone. Close around grow numerous 
bushes and trailing vines, and the hollow is cast in 



The Birthplace of Lincoln 157 

pleasant shadow by a few fine trees. How many times 
Lincoln's mother must have come hither to fill her 
water-pails, and how often the little boy must have 
toddled down to this cool retreat, and dabbled about 
and played with the ungainly crawfish that inhabit the 
spot ! 

While I was sitting beside the spring, a young man 
came from his work in a neighboring field to get a 
drink, and he called my attention to the manner in 
which the rivulet trickled from a crevice in the ledge 
and almost immediately disappeared into some hidden 
passage deeper down. " I reckon thar's a cave down 
under hyar," said he. " You'd think so, if you was to 
see the water that po's in hyar sometimes. Thar's 
quite a piece o' country dreans into this hole. When 
we have a heavy rain a regular crick comes runnin' in 
hyar, and the hole gets plumb full, way up over the 
rocks. Then thar's a big whirlpool, and bubbles and 
foam, and a noise like thunder." 

The spring is a favorite resort for warm-weather 
pleasure parties for miles around ; but occasional 
strangers from distant states also make pilgrimages 
to this lonely Kentucky pasture. The young fellow 
whom I quoted in the preceding paragraph often met 
these strangers, for his father rented and lived on the 
Lincoln farm. Their arrival was, in some instances, 
very unexpected and untimely. " Thar was a man 
last fall," my acquaintance explained, " who come to 



158 Highways and Byways of the South 

the house after it was dark. He was from Indiany, and 
he said he'd got to get back right away. That evening 
was his only chance to see Lincohi's birthplace, he said, 
so I took him down hyar. The moon was shinin', and 
he looked aroun', and he noticed how this clift jut out 
like a roof and that you could almost stand under it, 
and he ask, ' Now, don't you s'pose the Li'ncolns lived 
under this clift while they was buildin' their house ^ ' " 
The log cabin erected by Lincoln's father still exists, 
but it has not occupied its original site for a long time. 
From the pasture it was moved about a mile toward 
Hodgensville, and rebuilt on a bank close beside the 
highway. The farmer who last lived in it told me he 
sold it to a Northern man for enough to erect himself 
a good frame house, and he thought he " got the best 
of the bargain " ; for it was a poor little one-room 
affair, badly decayed, and worth practically nothing 
as a dwelling. Now it is a wandering show. It was 
one of the attractions at the Chicago Exposition, and 
has been at several other great fairs ; but the knoll 
near the spring where it was in Lincoln's babyhood 
is the place for it, and one cannot help hoping it will 
return and be permanently located there. The only 
reminders of it still to be found on the spot are a few 
stones that were in the old hearth, and some fragments 
of half-baked clay from the chimney. Even these are 
likely to disappear soon, carried off bit by bit by pred- 
atory relic hunters. 



The Birthplace of Lincohi 



^S9 




A Pail of Water from the Lincoln Spring 

From the spring a well-trodden path leads away far 
up the eastern slope to the present-day Lincoln farm- 
house, and shortly after the young man from the near 
field had gone back to his work, two little girls came 
down the path with a pail between them which they 
were going to fill with water. They said their names 
were Ivory Goldy Burton and Vesty Opal Burton, and 



i6o Highways and Byways of the South 

that all the water the family used came from the spring, 
except what fell on the roof and was caught in rain 
barrels set under the eaves spouts. I returned with 
them, and arranged with their mother to become a 
lodger at the Lincoln farmhouse. 

The house was in poor repair, the roof was leaky, 
window lights were gone, and the floors were warped 
and shaky. The walls were of logs, but these had been 
long ago covered from sight with clapboards. No 
outer painting had ever been done, and the clapboards 
were extremely weatherworn and loose. In the yard 
were various rude structures put up for the hens, geese, 
and turkeys, and near the back door was a receptacle 
full of recently leached ashes, and a kettle of new- 
made soft soap that was awaiting a convenient time for 
transferring it to the dwelling. 

One day during my stay it rained. Mr. Burton 
rapped on mv door at early dawn, and as soon as I was 
fairly awake, I heard the steady drive of the storm out- 
side. Heavy, lowering clouds cast a pall of gloom 
over the earth, and we ate our five-o'clock breakfast 
by lamplight. That done I sat by the dining-room 
fireplace and whiled the hours away. 

They passed very agreeably on the whole, and I 
caught many interesting glimpses of home lite on a 
Kentucky farm. The room walls were stout oak logs 
chinked with clay and whitewashed. They were orna- 
mented with two antique lithographs and a handsaw. 



The Birthplace of Lincoln i6i 

The upper sash of the single window was gone, and 
the blank filled by nailing on pieces of boards. In 
one corner of the apartment was a bureau, in another 
a double-barrel shot-gun, in each of the other two a bed. 
Southern families are, as a rule, large, and in the average 
house you are likely to find a bed or two in every room, 
except possibly the cook-room. The older Burton 
children had flown from the home nest, and there re- 
mained the son Jed, and the two little girls I had met 
at the spring, and two other girls who were in their 
teens. 

As soon as we finished breakfast, the older girls 
turned back the white table-cloth enough to make 
space for a pan and washed the dishes. Then they 
swept the floor and put the house to rights, and after- 
ward one of them produced some fancy work and 
seated herself next the window. She was making a 
rug. The foundation was a guano bag and the super- 
structure was of rags, too short for carpet rags, and too 
small for use in a patchwork quilt. These fragments 
she drew through the bagging and left the ends stick- 
ing up. Vesty Opal, barefooted and tousled, dreamily 
knelt for a half hour on the hearth and poked the fire 
with the tongs. At the back of the fireplace were 
smouldering loo;s, but in front was a brisk blaze lend- 
ing a rav of cheer to the gloomy room. Ivory Goldy 
did not get up to breakfast. She lay sleeping in one 
of the dining-room beds. When she finally crawled 



1 62 Highways and Byways of the South 

forth, she made out a meal of such things as she could 
lay her hands on, and presently she and Vesty Opal 
each procured an ear of corn, shelled their laps full, and 
played " Hully-gully." Ivory Goldy would take up 
a few kernels, close her fingers over them, hold out 
her hand, and say " Hully-gully." 

" Handful," says Vesty Opal. 

" How many ? " asks Ivory Goldy. 

Vesty Opal guesses, and if right, gets the corn. If 
she overestimates, she has to make up to the quantity 
named. If she underestimates, she gets what is over 
the number guessed. They played until they were 
tired, and then threw the corn out of the door to the 
chickens which had congregated in a narrow, covered 
passage between the dining room and cook-room. 

Mrs. Burton, who had been in the cook-room work- 
ing and singing hymns, now returned to the dining 
room. She brought with her from the passageway a 
"crazy chicken" and wrapped it up in an apron, and 
put it on the bureau in the hope that warmth and quiet 
would restore it to sanity. " The air is right chilly," 
she remarked. " I reckon this must be the dogwood 
winter. We always have a cold spell when the dog- 
wood is in blossom, and that's what we call it. Then, 
later, when the blackberries are in blossom, we have 
another cold spell what we call the blackberry winter." 

"This rain '11 make the water high at the fords," 
said the daughter with the fancy work. 



The Birthplace of Lincoln 163 

There were few bridges in the region and the fords 
were treacherous whenever the streams were flooded. 
" Our little creeks are up in a hurry," Mrs. Burton 
explained. " I'll never forget an accident that hap- 
pened over on the Rolling Fork. There was a man 
had come with his family from a good distance, and he 
was going to visit his father who lived on the Rolling 
Fork, eight miles from hyar just across the ford. The 
children hadn't never seen their grandpaw, and their 
father was a-takin' 'em in a one-horse surrey. It had 
been rainin', and before he come to the ford he ask a 
man if the water was up, and the man say ' No.' But 
the water was up ; and he drove right in, and his 
horse and all his family was drownded. He was the 
only one got out ; and the next day they found the 
bodies of the children and buried 'em." 

About the middle of the morning Mr. Burton and 
Jed came in from the barn where they had been 
shucking some corn and shelling it by hand to take 
to mill. A dog slunk in with the men and lay down 
on the hearth to enjoy the heat. " I wish it would 
quit raining," Mr. Burton observed. " I want to 
finish breaking ground." 

" I cain't hardly hold pappy, he so anxious to get 
started fishing," afiirmed Jed. 

" Yes," corroborated Mrs. Burton, " he's the 
smartest lazy man I ever see — workin' hisself to 
death to get to go a-fishin'. He an' our nex' neigh- 



164 Highways and Byways of the South 

bor, they boun' to make a fishin' trip together every 
spring. Soon as plantin's done, they drive away off 
across country into the woods and camp a whole 
week." 

" Pappy has a big time then, shore ! " Jed com- 
mented. 

" Harry Vetts was shootin' suckers Thursday, as 
they come over the riffle just below the mill," said 
Mr. Burton, "and he was gettin' lots of 'em, too." 

" Did Harry say anything about tradin' horses ? " 
inquired Jed. 

" He tol' me he traded six times in one day when 
he was in Hodgensville las' week, and brought back the 
same horse he started with, but he didn't say whether 
he got any profit out of his deals." 

" Harry wants to make money without work," 
declared Mrs. Burton ; " and he wants to make it by 
the armful, and he'll never do it. Ever'body aroun' 
hyar like to trade horses. They do for a fact. But 
Harry, he's the greatest feller at it of all." 

" Well, you cain't make much just farmin'," said 
Mr. Burton, " and there's gettin' to be more renters 
and less owners every year." 

" I reckon the Dudley boys make enough," Mrs. 

Burton suggested ; " but then, see how they live. 

There's four of 'em, and they're all single and it's 

likely they always will be, for the youngest one is 

over fifty. They work harder than any renter and go 




The Fisherman 



The Birthplace of Lincoln 165 

worse lookin', and they deny themselves ever' privilege 
on earth excep' that of hoarding up money." 

*' If it cl'ars off, I'll plant the rest of those potatoes 
in the garden, Mis' Tilly," remarked Mr. Burton to 
his wife. " Mis' Tilly " was a pet condensation of Mrs. 
Matilda. She, in turn, was apt to call him " Billy." 

" No," said she, " you'll have to wait till nex' week. 
The moon ain't right now. I'm a great hand to gar- 
den in the moon," she added, turning to me. " Things 
that grow under ground like potatoes and carrots want 
to be planted in the dark of the moon ; and things 
like beans and peas, that grow above ground, want to 
be planted in the light of the moon. You can start 
potatoes side by side, some planted in the dark of 
the moon and some in the light of the moon, and 
those planted in the dark of the moon will be the best 
ever' time. You know, too, how 'tis with meat. Take 
and boil meat that was killed in the rise of the moon 
— it don't matter when, if it's only killed before the 
moon fulls, and that meat will be plump as can be ; 
but you boil meat killed in the old of the moon, and it 
will all shrivel up and there won't be none of it. I'm 
not superstitious at all, but that is the case." 

" You said you wanted to go to town to-morrow, 
Mis' Tilly, didn't you ? " asked Mr. Burton. " How 
you want to go ? " 

'M'll go horseback, Billy," was her reply, "though 
it ain't the style, I know." 



1 66 Highways and Byways of the South 

" The women aroun' hyar are gettin' to think they 
cain't ride horseback no more," declared Jed. 

" Well, I stopped for a long time myself," said his 
mother, " but last Christmas was a year ago, my father 
was took sick, and the easiest way to go to him was 
horseback. He lived seven mile from hyar and I 
went two or three times a week and that seem to be 
what I needed. My health improve at once." 

"It shorely done Mammy good goin' to see Grand- 
pap on horseback," remarked Jed. 

" Twenty-five years ago nearly ever'one went horse- 
back," Mrs. Burton continued. " But lots of things 
were different then. Why, we wove our own jeans 
and flannels and blankets and coverlids, and I often 
think how all the ole ladies use' to wear caps. I re- 
member just what Grandmaw's was like. She wouldn't 
'a' been Grandmaw without her cap." 

" In my day of raisin'," added Mr. Burton, " my 
mother made all her own can'les — made 'em in tin 
moulds; and we'd thrash our wheat by makin' a floor 
in the open and spreadin' the bundles on that, and then 
we children would get on the horses and ride round 
and round over the wheat and tread out the grain." 

Mrs. Burton now went to the cook-room to begin 
preparations for dinner. The cook-room was a kind 
of shed annex. Its floor was partly of loose boards, 
partly of rough earth. Water had trickled in from 
outside here and there, and Mrs. Burton had been 



The Birthplace of Lincohi 167 

obliged to move the flour barrel. The wind was blow- 
ing and it created quite a breeze as it drew through 
the many holes and cracks of the walls. Whenever 
the door was left open the hens walked in, but they 
were shooed out more or less promptly- The house- 
wife mixed up some biscuit, put a few slices of ham on 
the spider, and at eleven o'clock we had dinner. Corn 
bread is a staple in the bill of fare of most Kentucky 
families — so much so indeed that the country people 
of the state are often nicknamed " corn-crackers." 
The average household considers wheat a luxury, and 
biscuit appear only on Sundays and special occasions ; 
but the Burtons did not care for corn bread. They ate 
biscuit three times a day the year through, and they 
disposed of several batches to a meal. The biscuit 
were always served piping hot, for while one panful 
was being eaten, another was in the oven. 

Early in the afternoon the rain ceased and the clouds 
lifted and let faint rays of sunlight through, Jed 
hitched up, and I went with him to mill. On the 
route we passed a house in which my companion said 
a woman had recently died. " She was a large, fine- 
lookin' woman," he explained, " but she died, and we 
never did know the straight of it no way what was the 
matter with her, till the doctor told that her lungs was 
just gorged with snufi^, and nothin' in the world killed 
her but that and the arsenic she'd e't to make her eyes 
bright. I'd rather 'a' been her, though, than a woman 



1 68 Highways and Byways of the South 

on the Hodgensville road that uses opium. She's kind 
o' dazed all the time." 

Presently we came to the " Lincoln Spring School- 
house," a gray, battered little structure in the woods. 
It looked as if it had withstood the changing weather 
of a century, and there was talk of putting up a new 
one, but the prospect of doing so was not very roseate, 
for opinion in the " deestrick " was deadlocked as to 
where the new building ought to be located. Jed said 
each family with children attending school was sup- 
posed to contribute annually a load of wood, but some 
never brought their load and others were slow about it, 
so there had been occasions when the supply at the 
schoolhouse gave out entirely. In that case the master 
had certain of the scholars go into the surrounding 
woods and drag out brush, and then an axe was borrowed 
and they cut the brush into stove length. 

The mill to which we journeyed was an ancient 
wooden structure erected about the time the Lincoln 
family moved away. The preceding mill stood close 
by, and one of its millstones served as a doorstep at the 
front entrance of the house occupied by the Burtons. 
This stone that helped grind the corn for little Abe's 
corn bread is one of the few Lincoln relics still pre- 
served on the historic farm. 

I was at the Burton's over Sunday and was awak- 
ened on the morning of that day by a hammering in 
the yard. When I went out 1 found Mr. Burton 



The Birthplace of Lincoln 



169 



tinkering the back gate and his wife superintending. 
" The ox is in the ditch," said she, referring to the 
New Testament excuse for Sabbath work where the need 
is great, " and Billy must mend this gate if it is Sunday. 
It was broken yesterday, and I couldn't sleep last night 




A Wounded Crow 

for thinkin' the hogs might come in and turn over my 
kittle of soft soap. But I s'pose I'd slep' better if it 
hadn't been for a screech-owl that I could hear some- 
where out in the pasture. A screech-owl always make 
me feel cur'ous. They ain't as bad, though, as whip- 
poorwills. Sometimes a whippoorwill come and sit on 
the house, and it holler there for hours and cluck ever' 



lyo Highways and Byways of the South 

time it holler. That worry me so I could kill 'em all 
if I had 'em in a sack." 

" Are you going to church to-day ?" I asked. 

"I been layin' for to go," was her response, " but 
there's a party comin' to Lincoln Spring, and we got to 
stay and see they don't do no damage. I'm willin' 
people should come if they are quiet and behave them- 
selves, but I don't like them to come on Sunday to 
cavort the way some of 'em do." 

I walked to church alone, a distance of two miles. 
The building was a plain, spireless structure of brick 
in a patch of woodland. Sunday school, which pre- 
ceded the church service, was just being called to 
order when I arrived. There were less than twenty- 
five of us and we gathered in a corner and went 
through the lesson very perfunctorily. The only de- 
viation from the beaten track consisted in an opinion 
expressed by our teacher that the Northern Baptist 
church was on " sandy ground, but the old Southern 
Baptist church " said he, warmly, " is on the solid rock 
yet. We don't want any of those Northern "new- 
fangled ideas," and he stepped aside to the pulpit plat- 
form where, on a stool, was a pail of water. Our leader 
took a drink from a tin dipper and returned to his 
labors. A collection was taken up amounting to 
eighteen cents. I had contributed a nickel and thus 
swelled the amount to an unusual size. Apparently 
no one was expected to give more than a penny, for I 



^M . *,iim/. 




On the Highway 



The Birthplace of Lincoln 171 

noticed that our leader, after dropping a five-cent piece 
in the box, took out four cents in change. 

We had a few minutes' intermission at the close of 
Sunday school. Teams and saddle-horses were now 
arriving from all directions and were being hitched to 
trees and low-drooping branches in the woods about 
the church. When service began, the edifice was well 
filled, and as the people continued to come for an hour, 
it was crowded by the time we were through. We had 
prayers by the preacher and by elders of the congrega- 
tion, we had singing led by a man whose voice 
rose above the grumbling undertone of the other 
men's voices and the gentle murmur of the sopranos 
like a mountain peak among little hills, and we had a 
vigorous old-fashioned sermon that included a denun- 
ciation of " revelry and tripping the fantastic toe." I 
could hear the horses whinnying and stamping outside 
and the soft cooing of turtle doves, the chirruping songs 
of cardinal birds, and the tapping of a woodpecker. 

On the women's side of the room gum chewing 
was prevalent ; on the men's side tobacco chewing. I 
have heard of a Southern church where signs were 
displayed : — 

USE THE CUSPIDORS 
DO NOT SPIT ON THE FLOOR 

But in this Kentucky church there were neither 
signs nor cuspidors, and the men kept the dust laid 



172 Highways and Byways of the South 

both between the seats and in the aisles. At the close 
of the benediction they all gave a final spit, reached for 
their hats, and went out into the spring sunshine where 
many of them lit cigars or cigarettes and puffed them 
while visiting around the church steps. The crowd 
was slow in dispersing, and the social intercourse fol- 
lowing the service was evidently as refreshing as the 
service itself to most of the worshippers. 

I returned to the Burtons', and after dinner the fam- 
ily gathered in the best room. Jed got out his guitar 
and fingered it meditatively. " Every kid boun' to 
have a guitar nowadays," remarked Jed's father. 

I mentioned that some of the women at the church 
wore sunbonnets. " Yes," said Mrs. Burton — " black 
cashmere, most likely, and they're very good, only they 
smother a body up too much in the heat of summer." 

Mrs. Burton inquired about the sermon, and this led 
to her telling me of" a grand revival " in a little town 
where she had lived formerly. " They closed busi- 
ness down for two weeks and had continuous services 
day and night. I was a Methodis' then, but I go the 
Baptis' church hyar." 

"Yo're kind o' like Ole Man Spriggs for changin' 
churches, Mammy," said Jed. 

" No, I ain't," she retorted. " Ole Man Spriggs 
have belonged to pretty nigh ever' church in this coun- 
try, and now he's flung out and don't belong to none. 
He joined the Dunkards last of all. They believe in 



The Birthplace of Lincoln 173 

baptizin' three times face downwards. He got along 
very well with 'em till he had a hog got crippled on 
Sunday. He wa'n't goin' to see that hog wasted if 
it was Sunday, and he got hot water ready and killed 
the hog and dressed it. They dealt with him in the 
Dunkard church for that not overly long ago, and he 
pulled out." 

When my stay on the Lincoln farm came to an end, 
Jed took me to Hodgensville in his buggy. There 
had been rain earlier in the day, and the red clay mud 
in the road was something frightful. If a person 
walked, it gathered on his shoes in great retarding 
clods. Nor was there any pleasure in riding, progress 
was so slow and laborious. The town was crowded, 
for on days not suited to farm work the men from ten 
miles around congregate there to trade and talk and 
loaf. That evening a fight occurred on one of the town 
byways between a white man and a negro. The com- 
batants were separated, but none too soon according to 
the white man. " I was jus' fixin' for to cut the nig- 
ger's throat when they pulled me off," said he. When I 
asked how the trouble began, I was told " the nigger was 
sassy " ; and it was generally conceded that any " nigger 
who was sassy " and had his throat cut in retribution 
met his just deserts. Some months previous a negro 
had been taken from the jail and hung to the outside 
court-house stairs, and this lynching took place only 
three miles from the birthplace of Abraham Lincoln! 



VII 



THE BLUE-GRASS COUNTRY 




N' 



O other sec- 
tion of the 
South is so 
famed for its fertihty 
and high state of 
cultivation as the Blue- 
grass region of Ken- 
tucky. I had always 
heard of it and had 
long wished to see it 

— this land flowing 
with milk and honey 

— and I journeyed 
thither with eager an- 
ticipation. I left the 
railroad at Lexington 
and at once started on 

a long walk out into the rural district surrounding. 
It was a real satisfaction to see the great smooth fields, 
and the abounding herds and flocks feeding on the 
succulent sward. The grazing lands that had been 

174 



Weeding a Tobacco Bed 



The Blue-grass Country 175 

long undisturbed by the plough were particularly charm- 
ing. On these grew the thick and velvety blue-grass. 
How the grass gets its name was not apparent at the 
season of my visit, but during fruiting the blue hue of 
its seed vessels is a conspicuous feature. Kentucky 
has not by any means a sole claim to the blue-grass. 
Few grasses are more widely distributed, but in the 
Kentucky district known especially as the blue-grass 
domain, it attains a singularly luxuriant growth. This 
dom.ain covers a territory as large as the state of Mas- 
sachusetts, and the limits are quite sharply defined. 
Its peculiar characteristics are due to the fact that the 
underlying rocks are limestone of a very ancient era, 
and their rapid decay keeps the soil constantly enriched. 
No amount of cultivation, even without fertilizing, 
seems to exhaust it, and for pasturage the region is 
unequalled either in America or in Europe, 

The Blue-grass country is to a notable degree a land 
of rural homes. The people love the soil and prize 
the feeling of personal worth and importance that 
arises from the possession of a generous estate and a 
sense of lordship over all they survey. Practically 
every man of note in all Kentucky's history has been 
of rustic origin, and there never has been a time when 
the farmers have not been a controlling element of the 
population. Even now, more are engaged in agricul- 
ture than in all other pursuits combined. With a 
population of some two millions, the state's only good- 



176 Highways and Byways of the South 

sized city is Louisville on the Ohio borders. Of the 
hundreds of towns and villages scattered through the 
interior scarcely any exceed five thousand inhabitants, 




A Blue-grass Mansion 

and most of them are wholly dependent for their 
meagre sustenance on the surrounding farm folk. 
The towns are themselves pastoral. The cultivated 
fields, the meadows, and the woodlands approach to 
their very borders, rustic vehicles abound on their 
streets, and the farmers are more in evidence than the 
townsmen. 

The homes of the Blue-grass aristocracy resemble 
very closely the ancestral mansions of the English 
gentry. They are large and dignified and set far back 



The Blue-grass Country 177 

from the highway in parks dotted with ancient trees — 
mostly gnarled and sturdy oaks or walnuts. These 
mansions are not occasional. They are omnipresent, 
and everywhere you go there is evidence of a well- 
to-do existence. You find a constant repetition of 
wood and field, meadow and lawn, a lazy stream, an 
artificial pond, orchard and hedgerow, a tobacco barn, 
a race-track, browsing sheep, horses and cattle, and, 
half hidden by groves and shrubbery, the attractive 
and substantial houses. 

A typical Kentucky mansion of the better class is 
Henry Clay's old home, " Ashland," on the outskirts 
of Lexington. I passed it as I walked out from the 
town. It is an ample structure of brick and was built 
by the statesman in 1809. From that time till he died 
in 1852 it was to him a beloved retreat from the cares 
and fatigues of his strenuous public life. 

I followed " the pike." For miles it kept on up and 
down the rolling hills as straight as an arrow. Until 
recently it had been a toll road, and the antiquated 
little toll-gate houses still remained. I began to weary 
after a time of trudging that hard, unswerving road, 
and to wish some person driving in the direction I 
had taken would offer me a ride ; but every one passed 
on unheeding till a colored man came jogging along in 
a market wagon drawn by a mule. He pulled up 
with a friendly invitation to occupy the seat with him, 
and I gladly accepted. He was on his way to a farm 



lyS Highways and Byways of the South 

he rented a mile or two beyond, and when he turned 
in at the farm-house gate, I went on alone again. 

Presently I came to a cluster of three little stores. 
Another well-travelled road joined the pike here, and 
had the effect of making the spot a centre of commerce. 
Yet no village gathered about the stores and they 
looked rather forlorn and unnecessary. The proprie- 
tors apparently had unlimited leisure, and I stopped 
and had a chat with one of them. When I prepared 
to resume my tramping, he suggested that I ought to 
see an old church on a near hill. It had been built 




L. 



An Old Toll-gate House on the Pike 

over a century. " I been goin' to that chu'ch most 
eighty years," said the storekeeper, "and my mother 
was among the first to be baptized in it. The preacher 



The Blue-grass Country 1-79 

that baptized her was a man by the name of Ferris. 
He lived to be a very old man and I remember talkin' 
to him not long befo' he died, an' he said, ' I've baptized 
over seventeen hundred persons, and your mother was 
the best woman I ever baptized.' That was a big 
word for a preacher, and he told it to me settin' in his 
own porch." 

I went up to look at the church. It was of stone, 
a plain little building of evident age with a diminutive 
yard about it protected by palings. In a large adjoin- 
ing field was the cemetery covering perhaps an acre. 
The scattered headstones were leaning and broken — 
and no wonder, for they were not in any way shut off 
from the rest of the field, and the grazing horses and 
cows wandered among the graves at will. The dead 
of the community had been interred here since the 
earliest days of the region's settlement, and it was still 
used as a burial spot. 

Evening was approaching when I returned to the 
highway, and I began to inquire for a lodging-place. 
I tried five houses, and on one plea or another was 
refused at all. There was no hotel within many miles. 
I even considered going back on the pike and seeking 
the home of the friendly negro who had given me a 
ride ; but I tried once more. The woman who re- 
sponded this time to my rap at the door said she had 
never turned any one away, but that I could get better 
accommodations elsewhere. I told her something of 



l8o Highways and Byways of the South 

my experiences, and she was indignant that a stranger 
should not everywhere find a prompt welcome. " Did 
you try that house ? " she asked, pointing to a residence 
back in a grove on the opposite side of the road. 

" Yes," I replied. 

" Well, I wouldn't 'a' thought it of 'em," was her 
comment. " They're shoutin' Methodists — that's what 
they are, but hit don't seem like they live up to their 
religion. They got a nice place thar. Hit ain't much 
like what we got hyar. This house was pitched up 
with pitchforks ; " saying which she ushered me in at 
the front door to the best room. 

There the housewife left me while she resumed her 
work in some other part of the dwelling. I sat down 
in the doorway and looked out on the barren, treeless 
surroundings. A considerable portion of the yard was 
hard-trodden earth strewn with broken brick, chips, 
rusted tinware, and decaying vegetables. Near the rear 
of the house a dilapidated old man was cutting up 
brush for fire-wood, and talking to himself The room 
to which I had been consigned was carpeted, and it had 
an ornate, marble-topped table with a bureau, wash- 
stand, and bed to match. Lace curtains were hung at 
the windows, and one's comfort was enhanced by 
several excellent chairs. But the walls failed to corre- 
spond to the elegance of the furniture. When the 
house was " pitched up with pitchforks," unplaned 
boards had been nailed on the outer side of the frame- 




A Country Storekeeper 



The Blue-grass Country 



i«i 



work, and then the structure had been clapboarded 
and work stopped. Nothing whatever had been done 
to the inner walls except that the unplaned boards 
were partially hidden by a pasting of daily newspapers 
and agricultural weeklies. This wall covering formed 
a curious motley of reading matter and advertisements 
of patent medicines, fertilizers, etc. It had rained the 
night before and water had leaked in copiously around 
the windows. To catch the drip several pitchers, 
bowls, and pails had been set on the floor next the 
wall and these had not yet been removed. 

I lingered in the doorway until the sun had set and 
the dusk was becoming darkness. The meadow-larks 
that had been sighing in the fields as long as daylight 
lasted were silent ; the red-headed woodpeckers I had 
seen in great numbers earlier had ceased their chirping 
and their clattering drum-beats on the dead limbs, 
and the air was filled with the guttural murmur of the 
toads. A big turkey gobbler fluttered up to the peak 
of a shed at the rear of the premises and established 
himself there for the night. At length my landlady 
came and lit the best-room lamp, and then led the way 
to the kitchen where we had supper. After we finished 
eating, the man of the house got out a great jack- 
knife, leaned back in his chair, and picked his teeth. 
That done he went with me to the best room and 
visited. He was a person of considerable intelligence, 
but mumbling in speech and given to frequent and 



1 82 Highways and Byways of the South 

fearful yawns. He seemed to feel that it was his duty 
to entertain me, and though the talk was arduous, he 
performed it with conscientious thoroughness. From 
first to last the people of the house did all they could 
to make me comfortable and my stay agreeable, and 
when breakfast was concluded the next morning and 
I asked how much I owed, my landlady was reluctant 
to take any pay whatever. Still, I did not wish to 
impose on her generous hospitality, and I handed her 
a half dollar and a quarter. That seemed to her 
entirely too much and she returned the larger coin. 
It was a beautiful morning. The sky was softly 
blue with scattered cloud puffs afloat on its cerulean 
depths, the sunshine was gently warm, and the grass 
fields were laden with dew. Kentucky is famous for 
its horses, and a large business is done in rearing them 
for the Northern market. No industry of the country- 
side has a more vivacious interest, and I spent much 
of the morning visiting one of the minor stock-farms. 
Several colored men and boys were kept busy all 
the time feeding, cleaning, exercising, and training the 
horses. The creatures were given the best of care, 
and each had a good-sized room to itself in the barns. 
The floor of the room was strewn with straw, the walls 
were whitewashed, and there was a window which must 
be promptly opened if the stall became too warm and 
as promptly shut when it became too cool. Every- 
thing was very neat and sweet, and the horses were 



The Blue-grass Country 



183 



rather slicker than their attendants. One of the latter 
wore a white advertising cap labelled, in large letters, 

I loitered a long time watch- 



COMPRESSED YEAST. 




Rubbing down a 'JVotter 

ing the compressed-yeast boy and another little fellow, 
who looked to be about ten years old, canter over the 
turf among the trees on the mettlesome ponies, giving 
them their morning exercise. 

One day I walked into a place called Athens — a 
village with a look of antiquity that suggested close 
relationship with the Grecian city of like name. It 
was a battered, decayed little hamlet gathered about a 



184 Highways and Byways of the South 

few shops and stores. Various village vehicles stood 
by the roadside of the narrow chief street, some 
wrecked past use, and others apparently left there for 
lack of shed room. Groups of loafers gathered wher- 
ever they could find convenient sitting-places in the 
shade, and the storekeepers established themselves in 
chairs tilted against the front of their emporiums and 
only went inside when a stray customer appeared. 




A Village Scene 

I made a purchase at one of the stores and then 
continued my walk, but I had not gone far when I 
was overtaken by a young man on horseback. He 
proved to be the man at whose store I had traded. 



The Blue-grass Country 185 

and the sole object of his ride was to have a talk with 
me. He had followed me at a gallop, but as he came 
abreast, he slowed down and called out, " How de do?" 
For several miles he kept in my company. He said 
he was not very busy. " This is the poorest country 
on God's earth for trade," he affirmed. " I'll tell you 
for why. There's too few people and too many stores 
— dag-goned if there ain't. Sometimes I think I'll 
sell out, lock, stock, and barrel [that is, he .would sell 
everything as completely as if he sold his gun — lock, 
stock, and barrel]. But I cain't quite make up my 
mind to it. 

" I s'pose you'd heard of yfthens before you come 
thar to-day. Yes, I s'pose every one's heard of yf thens, 
Kentucky. It ain't a bad place — dag-goned if it is. 
It's better'n any dag-goned city that ever was. Now, 
I cain't stay in a big place like Lexington more than 
half a day. Then I got to get out or die. The heat 
and the smells and the hard pavements drive me crazy, 
dag-goned if they don't. I think about all thar is in 
Lexington is noise. I'm dag-goned glad I don't have 
to work in such a place. I don't like it a little bit. 

" What a dag-goned lot of these red-headed wood- 
peckers there are ! You can always plant your corn 
when they come, or anything else. The winter's 
generally broke then, and you c'n calculate there won't 
be no more frost. 

" That rain we had the other night putt the ground 



1 86 Highways and Byways of the South 

In good fix to plough. The field over the fence 
yonder is hemp. We raise a heap of hemp hyar when 
the price ain't too dag-goned low. The next field is 
blue-grass. Two years ago that field was sowed to 
blue-grass and clover, and the blue-grass has done eat 
the clover out a'ready. See, it kivers the ground. 
It's the purest grass in the world, I reckon, and comes 
nearer to bein' corn, oats, and hay all in one than any- 
thing that grows out of the ground." 

We passed a negro by the wayside, breaking stone 
for use on the road. " That's a good job for him," 
said my friend. " He's paid so much a yard, and he'll 
earn a dollar a day and not half work. He wouldn't 
be paid but seventy-five cents at regular wages. We 
got a very good class of niggers aroun' hyar, but they 
naturally will steal. Befo' the war the niggers was 
worked very hard and fed very poor, and after they'd 
got through a day their first thought was to steal some- 
thing to eat. They ain't never got over that — dag- 
goned if they have. Did you ever have a nigger work 
for you ? Well, he has about two ideas — to beat you 
out of all the time he can and then to get his money ; 
and if you don't pay prompt, even if it ain't more'n 
five cents, he'll wear out a pair of shoes chasin' you to 
get it. But if he owes you, he'll wear out a pair of 
shoes walkin' aroun' you to keep out of your way — 
dag-goned if he won't." 

Thus the equestrian enlightened me as we went 



The Blue-grass Country 187 

along, and I was a willing listener, though I grew 
rather weary of his dag-goning. Once he stopped his 
horse to accost a child in a home gateway. " Go get 
your hair brushed so you'll look like you was human," 
he commanded, and the frightened youngster hastened 
to shelter. " Did you ever see such a dag-goned- 
looking kid ? " he inquired, addressing himself to me. 

My companion finally turned back, but I did not 
go far alone before I was joined by a small boy who 
was hunting for his cows. They were in the habit of 
feeding by the roadside, and were as likely to have 
wandered in the direction 1 was going as any other, 
and the boy walked along with me for two or three 
miles. Then he concluded he must search elsewhere. 
Near where he left me, on a little hill, had been a 
rude fort in the latter part of the eighteenth century 
known as Bryan's Station, and here had been fought 
a famous battle with the Indians. 

Most of the Indians with whom the Kentucky 
pioneers contended were from north of the Ohio, 
for Kentucky itself had very few savage dwellers. 
The last raid that the Indians made in force culmi- 
nated early one August morning of 1782 in the 
attempt to capture Bryan's Station, which consisted 
of about forty cabins surrounded by a stout palisade. 
The assailants numbered six hundred. Only fifty 
men were available for the defence, and they were in 
no condition to offer an effective resistance. Their 



1 88 Highways and Byways of the South 

paHsades needed repairs and the fort was destitute of 
water ; but they at once prepared for the combat, and 
two mounted messengers broke through the Indian 
lines to alarm the other stations and bring reenforce- 
ments. Then the women were told that the safety 
of the garrison demanded that they bring a supply of 
water from the spring at the foot of the hill outside 
the fort. The women bravely accepted the situation, 
went in a body to the spring, filled their pails, and 
had the good fortune to return unharmed. Shortly 
afterward the Indians charged on the fort, but the 
attack was repulsed and the Indians lost heavily. 

Meanwhile the messengers had alarmed the Lex- 
ington garrison, and a considerable party, some mounted 
and some on foot, hastened to the relief of the belea- 
guered Station. The Indians laid in ambush for them 
where the narrow road was bordered on one side by 
high corn and on the other by a dense wood. The 
whites fell into the trap, but the horsemen spurred 
on, and their speed and the cloud of dust they raised 
carried them safely past the flying bullets of the 
excited savages. The footmen, who were creeping 
through the corn-field to the fort, started to go to the 
aid of the horsemen when they heard the Indians 
firing on them, and were scattered by the tenfold force 
of the enemy, and six of them were killed. 

On the second night of the siege the leader of the 
Indians approached the fort in the sheltering darkness, 




At the Back Door 



The Blue-grass Country 189 

and from behind a stump hailed the garrison and 
demanded its surrender. One of the defenders called 
back that if the " Indian gang of murderers " remained 
twenty-four hours longer before the fort, their scalps 
would be found drying on the roofs of the white 
settlers' cabins. 

The chief knew that the pioneers from far and near 
would soon be flocking to the aid of the garrison, and 
he concluded to withdraw his forces. Daylight dis- 
closed the Indian camp deserted. Their fires were 
still burning brightly, and several pieces of meat were 
on the roasting-sticks, showing that the foe had just 
gone. Detachments of men from other stations now 
began to arrive, and among their leaders was the 
renowned Daniel Boone. With very little delay a 
party of one hundred and sixty started in pursuit of 
the Indians, and no sooner did they come up with the 
retreating raiders than they made a foolhardy and dis- 
astrous attack. Nearly half of the whites were killed, 
and the rest were dispersed and found their way to 
their homes by circuitous routes through the wilder- 
ness. Boone's son Israel was mortally wounded, and 
the father, after bearing the son beyond the field of 
struggle, watched beside him in the forest until he 
died. 

Not far from the site of the old fort at Bryan's 
Station I found lodging in a farm-house. The dwell- 
ing was very different from the one in which I spent 



190 Highways and Byways of the South 

my first night in the blue-grass country. This was a 
fine old mansion, low and spreading, with a line of 
humble structures behind it that had formerly been 
slave quarters. I recall with especial pleasure looking 
from the front porch, after my hard day's tramping, out 
on the grassy, generous yard set full of trees, — locusts, 
poplars, maples, pines, cedars, etc., — forty-two varieties 
of them I was told in that one yard. A squad of 
blackbirds clucked and squeaked up amidst the foliage, 
a cat-bird mewed, and a robin was carolling, and there 
were swallows coursing through the air in swift, twitter- 
ing flight. As I sat on the porch, whiling away the 
mild spring evening with these sights and sounds 
around, I felt that few spots on earth had been en- 
dowed by nature with such home charms as the Blue- 
grass country of Kentucky. 



VIII 



ON THE BANKS OF THE OHIO 




I 



WAS in West 
Virginia at a vil- 
lage close beside 
the great river. The 
day was warm and 
hazy, and the distant 
hills faded in deHcate 
tints of blue into the 
sky. Both the scene 
and the weather were 
conducive to loiter- 
ing, and I spent all of 
one morning on the 
river bank. Nothing 
impressed me more 
than the long and 
steep descent from the 
level of the surrounding country to the level of the 
water. I had never seen a stream bordered by alluvial 
banks of such extraordinary height. Here and there 
patches of bushes grew on the declivities, but for the 

191 



An Onion Patch 



192 Highways and Byways of the South 

most part the surface was strewn with stones, or cov- 
ered with deposits of mud and sand. A Hne of drift 
rubbish showed how high the hist flood had been. 
Evidently the banks had been filled nearly to the 
brim, and the river must then have been a frightful 
torrent, immense in depth and breadth and sinister 
power. Now, low down in the bottom of the channel, 
and stained a reddish yellow with soil washings, it 
looked like an artificial drainage canal. 




A Ferry Steamer 

A stern-wheel ferry steamer plied across the river 
every few minutes to a village on the opposite side of 
the stream, and a little above the landing on the West 
Virginia side were two men in a rowboat setting fish- 



On the Banks of the Ohio 193 

lines. Residents on the river banks do a good deal 
of desultory fishing, and I constantly observed men 
and boys, both on shore and in boats, trying with 
baited hooks to entice the finny folk from the water. 
Once I saw a boy haul out a " mud cat" that weighed 
six or seven pounds — a veritable monster of the deep 
with its big, flat head and its " horns." All the fisher- 
men and loafers who chanced to be near came to see 
the prize, for it was not every day a fish of this size 
was captured, and the hero of the exploit proudly 
exhibited his catch, and told over and over again just 
how he pulled it in. The only derogatory remark I 
heard was from a man who said he didn't think 
" slick " fish like mud cats and eels were very good 
eating. " I like scaly fish like perch a good sight 
better," he declared. 

The most persistent of the river fishermen are the 
" shanty boat " dwellers. A shanty boat is a scow 
fitted up as a house-boat, and affording shelter for a 
family. Such families have no other homes and are 
a species of river gypsies. They catch fish both to eat 
and to sell, and they have a number of other make- 
shifts for earning a living ; and whenever honest re- 
sources do not satisfy them, they fall back on stealing. 
They visit hen-houses, rob stores, and pick up a little 
of everything. In fact the shanty boats are considered 
to shelter " the worst thieves there are," and a great 
many of the residents alongshore live in " absolute 



194 Highways and Byways of the South 

horror" of these river pirates. They avoid getting 
into trouble with the shanty-boat people, and hesitate 
to accuse them of crime even on the best of evidence, 
for fear the outlaws will retaliate and burn their accus- 
ers' buildings or wreak vengeance in some other form. 
It is never easy to fasten their ill-doing on them or to 
arrest them, because they can shift their habitations so 
readily and transfer themselves from one state to an- 
other by merely crossing the river. I was told that 
among themselves they lived practically outside the 
pale of the law, and in support of this assertion my 
informant said : " Three years ago a shanty boat was 
hitched to the shore close by where 1 live, and one 
night while it was there, I heard a woman's shrieks, 
and her cries kep' growin' fainter and fainter until they 
stopped. I haven't a doubt that woman was choked 
to death. All they had to do afterward was to tie a 
stone to the body and throw it in the river, and no 
one would be the wiser." 

The villages and farm-houses in the immediate 
vicinity of the river had the aspect of keeping abreast 
with modern civilization, but no sooner did I leave 
this narrow valley strip than I was in a region so 
much more recently subdued and so much less in 
touch with the world outside, that I seemed trans- 
ported fifty or seventy-five years into the past. Here 
were hills and crooked glens and rough woodland, 
and the people had the characteristics of mountaineers. 





■yy.ys.ig^'; 


^s^fli^'"^ ^v ^1 


|i 








w 


lifl^lr ^ 


m- 


^ 


W 


1^ 


r^ 





gtf^ll-g'- 



L'oR.N-MEAL Day 



On the Banks of the Ohio 195 

One of the excursions I made into the uplands was 
on a Saturday. The final day of the week is corn- 
meal day, and I met no end of men on their way to 
mill, some on horseback with a bag behind them, 
some on foot with the grist balanced on a shoulder. 
They were all sociably inclined and greeted me with, 
" Howdy," and occasionally a man stopped to learn 
my business, and among other things would ask, 
"Where do you hold forth when you are to home?" 
Once I came across a two-horse load of oak railway 
ties that had met disaster in a mud-hole. The driver 
was a boy. He had thrown off half the ties and ex- 
tricated the wagon, and was now endeavoring to reload. 
The task looked to be beyond his strength, and I went 
to his assistance. When we finished he said, " Paw's 
not got his breaking up done yit, and he say to git 
back this mornin' so he could plough this afternoon. 
'Pears like I couldn't 'a' done hit it yo' hadn't 'a' 
holped me." 

Some of the valleys up which I wandered were very 
pretty, particularly when I got away from the out- 
reach of the Ohio floods. Every year, with the 
departure of winter, the roily, swollen waters not only 
fill the main channel but set far back in all the tribu- 
tary hollows. They leave a deep deposit of mud, 
and the mud of the latest overflow had not yet been 
hidden by summer verdure. It was still spring, and 
I heard the bob-whites announcing their presence in 



196 Highways and Byways of the South 

the woods, and the gentle crooning of the turtle-doves, 
and a thousand other bird songs. Blossoms, too, were 
plentiful, the dark red papaw blooms being especially 
conspicuous on the roadside bushes. 




Some Farm B 



uildmgs 






The houses among the hills were small and poor. 
Often they were of logs. Round about each dwelling 
was likely to be a huddle of nondescript sheds and 
shacks for the shelter of the stock and crops, and not 
much care was shown as to appearances ; yet now and 
then a house-yard had been securely fenced against the 
marauding domestic animals, and grass and fruit trees 
had been encouraged, so that the home was quite at- 
tractive. Very little paint was used on the buildings, 



On the Banks of the Ohio 197 

and most of that little must be credited to the adver- 
tising enterprise of rival merchants in neighboring 
towns. The handiwork of the sign painters was very 
rude, and it was often ungrammatical. A curious and 
startling result was obtained by one of these advertise- 
ments, through careless spacing between words and 
letters and a lack of punctuation. It covered all one side 
of a small barn, and was intended to advertise clothing, 
but an S belonging to the second word got astray, and 
the mammoth letters informed the public that 

ALL MEN SWEAR 
AT SAM GORDONS. 

A common adjunct of the homes was a toy house 
on a pole for the box martins to live in. These birds 
are encouraged, not simply for the pleasure of the 
people who provide the shelters, but because the 
martins are sworn enemies of the hawks, and give 
effective police protection to the chickens. Water 
was, of course, plentiful in the hills, though the dwell- 
ings were seldom amply and conveniently supplied with 
it. Some had cisterns that stored the roof water, but 
this supply gave out in dry spells, and it was apt to be 
discolored and to taste of the wood over which it had 
flowed. Some families depended on springs, frequently 
at quite a distance, and brought the water a pailful at a 
time. I saw one girl lugging along such a burden who 



198 Highways and Byways of the South 

had to go for it a quarter of a mile, cHmb a rocky hill, 
and crawl under a barbed-wire fence. 




Going Home from the Spring 

The half-wild glens I explored had an attraction 
distinctly their own, but it was the Ohio and its nearest 
borderlands that interested me most. One sultry after- 
noon, while following the highway across a meadow 



On the Banks of the Ohio 



199 



level near the river, I was overtaken by a shower. The 
valley had been full of fog early, and all the morning 
a light mist permeated the air and dulled the sunshine. 
But by noon this mist had burned off, and the day was 
very hot until mid-afternoon, when gloomy clouds 
began to unfold in the west. They drifted upward 
and blotted out the sun, and spread a leaden twilight 
over the landscape. The lightning flickered along the 
horizon, and I heard the distant rumble of thunder. 
Presently the first big drops of rain were pelting down, 
and I ran on and escaped the heaviest of the downpour 
by seeking refuge in a little store at Jones's Landing. 
For half an hour the rain drenched the earth, and the 
cloudland artillery crashed, and the lightning rended 
the skies with savage lines of fire. 

The store was a gray, unpainted, wooden structure 
one story high. It had a rude porch across the front, 
where the local citizens liked to linger to do their vis- 
iting and thinking. Commodities of all sorts were 
crowded inside — groceries, dry-goods, men's clothing, 
hardware, drugs, and I know not what. There was no 
other public building at the Landing, and only two 
dwellings were at all near. Indeed, Jones's Landing 
was simply a very minor steamer and ferry landing. 
Certain of the lesser steamers stopped at such times as 
there was occasion, and took on or let off passengers 
by a long gang-plank shoved out from the bow to the 
wharfless shore. A rough road slanted down the bank, 



200 Highways and Byways of the South 

and where it began to descend was a bell suspended on 
a pole. When you wanted to cross the river, you rang 
the bell as a signal to the ferryman, who lived on the 
opposite shore. He took foot-passengers over in a 
skiff, and he conveved teams on a scow, which he 
towed with his rowboat. 

In the vicinity of the Landing was a stretch of rich 
meadow laid off in large fields of grass, grain, and 
corn, and the houses here were generally those of the 
descendants of the early settlers. They were of ample 
size, and pleasantly surrounded with old orchards and 
thrifty gardens. It was in one of these houses I found 
lodging after the shower. A fleshy, elderly woman 
had come to the door in response to my knock, and 
when she learned what I wanted, she regarded me 
sharply through her spectacles and said, " You ain't 
that man what was around here a while ago, be you ? " 

I assured her I had never been at Jones's Landing 
before. 

" Well, I rather think he was more red-complected 
than you be," she continued. " He wanted something 
to eat. It was a Tuesday, and he said he hadn't eaten 
anvthing since Sunday but two raw potatoes; and it's 
likely he stole those. I asked him if he was willing to 
work for his victuals, and he said he was. So I told 
him he could cut up some wood and then I'd feed him. 
I got him the axe, and he cut one stick off, and then 
he raised up and rubbed his stomach. After that he 



On the Banks of the Ohio 201 

gave a few more blows, and raised up and rubbed his 
stomach some more; and 1 said to my daughter: 
'That man's a-suffering. Get him a lunch;' and we 
laid the lunch out on a block, and he never cut any 
more wood. He picked up the lunch, and walked off," 

At the conclusion of this narrative about the red- 
complected fraud who got his lunch so easily, I was 
made welcome. Pretty soon we had supper, and when 
we finished and the dishes were done, my landlady 
seated herself by an open window in the sitting room, 
puffing her pipe and occasionally spitting out into the 
yard, " I smoke after every meal," she informed me, 
" and forty other times in the day when I get worried ; 
and I can remember the time when nearly all the women 
in the country smoked," 

While she spoke, a great blundering beetle flew in 
and I caught it. " This must be a June bug," I 
suggested, 

"Oh, Lor' no!" was the response. "June bugs 
are green, M-m-m — h-m-m ! I know them. The 
children ketches 'em and ties strings to their legs to 
hear 'em sizz every time they give 'em a pull. What 
time is it by your watch .? " 

" Half-past six," I replied. 

" I thought that was about it. You see it's after 
seven by our clock. I always keep our time fast. 
That's the only way to get things done. If you go on 
the gallop, it seems to hurry up everybody." 



202 Highways and Byways of the South 

I made some remark about the clouds looking as if 
the weather was still doubtful, and she said : " I don't 
believe I've seen it rain as it did this afternoon since 
1884. It was a terrible bad storm while it lasted. I 
was talkin' before supper with one of the neighbors 
who'd just come home on the train from down the 
river, and he said the lightning knocked a house all to 
pieces in Portsmouth and killed a man in Ironton ; 
but he didn't hear of its doin' any particular damage 
in other places except for scaring the people." 

" What about the storm in 1884?" I inquired. 

" That was when we had the big flood. There 
hadn't been such a flood since the white people took 
possession of this valley. It was the last part of Feb- 
ruary, and for several davs the rain fell in torrents. The 
water come in on our floors on a Saturday night at one 
o'clock. We'd all gone to bed early. I got up once 
and looked out, but it was dark and I thought the 
water wa'n't any nearer the house than it was in the 
earlv evening. By and by seem like something told 
me to get up again ; and this time the moon came trom 
behind a cloud and I could see the water had got in 
the yard ; and I cried out, ' Oh, mercy, get up quick, 
Paw ! ' and he was out of bed in no time and he ran 
downstairs and rang the bell that wc have hung on 
the porch to call the men to their meals. That woke 
everybody in the house and brought some men from 
the neighbors, and we got the things out of the cellar, 



On the Banks of the Ohio 



203 



and then we took up our carpets. We had a big ex- 
tension table in this room, and we piled the chairs and 
the carpets and a trunk full of things on it. We 
thought the water'd never get up to 'em, but it kep' 
risin' till Wednesday, and then it was over the mantle- 




A Riverside Team 

piece. The river was full of drift of every description 
— bridges and houses and fences, hay-stacks and straw- 
stacks — and it was just awful. Our barn is a little higher 
than the house; but the water come in there, too, and 
Monday we waded our horses and cows away to dry 



204 Highways and Byways of the South 

land farther back. It was the middle of June before ;' 
our cellar dried out, and our doors was all swelled so ■ 
they wouldn't shut for months. With all the other 
damage, the steamers did a lot of hurt. They'd come 
along close to shore to keep out of the current, and 
the big waves from 'em would rock the flooded houses 
and do 'em more harm than the water had. That 
made the people mad, and some would shoot into the 
steamers to warn 'em off. It reminded me of war 
times." 

"Why," said I, "was there fighting here in the 
war : 

" No, but there was raiding. We had a store-boat 
on the river then, and it was full of goods, and we used 
to peddle from it. We thought the goods was safer 
afloat than on shore, and when we'd hear of a squad of 
Rebel soldiers anywhere near, we'd get off across the 
river in the store-boat and live in it for a while. One 
time we swam our horses across the river to save 'em 
from raiders. Another time my little girl was standin' 
at the window and she call to me, ' Maw, the whole 
place is covered with soldiers ! ' and I looked out and 
see thirteen Rebel bushwhackers on their horses right 
in our yard. They'd jumped the fences and there they 
were. I ran out the back door down to the house-boat, 
but they followed me and stopped me on the shore, 
and I had to stand there with a gun levelled at me 
while they robbed our store. They carried off as much 



On the Banks of the Ohio 205 

as they could get on their horses, — ahiiost a thousand 
dollars' worth, — and what they couldn't take they 
strewed around and stamped on. We had a big 
Union flag, and they fastened one end of that around 
the neck of the leader's horse and rode away with it 
trailing in the mud. No, 'tain't funny to live where 
there's war goin' on." 

My landlady was over eighty years old and her 
memory carried her back to very primitive times. 
Her father was one of the earliest settlers of the region. 
" He and his two brothers and three sisters and their 
paw and maw come from Providence, Rhode Island," 
said she, " and several other families with 'em. They 
travelled to Pittsburg in wagons, and then they got a 
flatboat and floated down on that with their animals 
and goods to where Marietta is now, and my Uncle 
Oliver helped cut the first tree that was cut there. 
They stayed at Marietta till the Indians were driven 
out, and then they come down here. That was in 
1808. They built a log cabin; but a few years later 
when they got better fixed, they put up a two-story, 
hewed-log house. There was only scattered families 
here then. Each one would make a little opening on 
the river bank and start a farm. It was all wilderness 
and the valley was overgrown with heavy forest. Many 
a fine tree five and six feet through has been cut on this 
place since / can remember. Oh, my goodness ! I 
guess there never was any finer timber. Some people 



2o6 Highways and Byways of the South 

just cut it and rolled it up and burned it to get it out of 
their way so they'd have the land clear for raising crops. 
Others saved anything that would split, and chopped it 
into cord wood and sold it to the steamers, 

" They had to depend pretty much on themselves 
then for what they had. Father learned to tan buck- 
skin, and he learned to make shoes and bedsteads and 
chairs. Every farmer kept sheep, and there was spin- 
ning-wheels and a loom in every house till long after 
the time I was married. In the fall, father was in the 
habit of building a boat and loading it with potatoes 
and apples and other produce and taking his load 
down the river to sell. Sometimes he'd go as far as 
New Orleans. He'd dispose of his produce and 
then of his boat, and after that he'd buy sugar and 
coffee and whatever we needed and come back on a 
steamer. 

" The country was full of wild game then. I've 
seen a deer swim the 'Hio River myself, and I've seen 
wild pigeons light on one of our big oak trees so thick 
they'd break the limbs. There was ten gangs of wild 
geese then to one we have now. Even if a man was 
only goin' to his next neighbor's, he'd take his gun and 
shot-pouch along, and he was more'n likely to bring 
back some game. You could always have deer meat 
or b'ar meat if you wanted to take the trouble to go 
out and shoot it. Once when father was away a b'ar 
come and burst open the kitchen door in the night, 




A Schoolgirl ai' Home 



On the Banks of the Ohio 207 

and the dogs got after the b'ar and chased it through 
the house and out again. There was panthers and 
wolves, too, and we had to watch to see that our cattle 
and hogs wa'n't killed and carried off. 

"About the time my father come of age he fought 
in the Indian wars. He was at Sandusky when Tecum- 
seh was killed. Yes, he saw Tecumseh shot, and he 
always said the histories didn't tell the truth about 
how he died. Tecumseh was shot by a young boy, 
and father was only a few feet from that boy when he 
fired his gun. The soldiers got hold of Tecumseh's 
body, and they took his hide off and used it for razor 
strops. But they never made any great talk about 
doing that, because it was a punishable offence. 

" I reckon there's been a big Indian battle some 
time right on our old farm. I've picked up many 
an arrowhead and tomahawk and flints when I been 
a-trottin' after my paw as he was ploughin' or hoein' in 
the fields. 

" It was in 18 14, after he come back from fightin' 
Tecumseh, that he married. My mother's name was 
May Fuller. She lived at the next farm down the 
river. He got to have a liking for her, and he asked 
her would she marry him. She was only fourteen, 
and she says : ' I'm too young. You'll have to ask 
my pappy ; ' and her pappy, when father had a talk 
with him, said the same about her being too young, 
but he was willing to have him call on her. Things 



■2o8 Highways and Byways of the South 

might have been all right if it hadn't been that May 
had a stepmother, who said May shouldn't have any- 
thing to do with father, and she'd whip her if she even 
spoke to him. But May did speak to him, and her 
stepmother found out about it, and said she'd whip her 
the next morning. Mother never'd been whipped, 
and she lay awake all night, and very early, when the 
first birds began to twitter, she throwed her shoes out 
the window and crept downstairs and stole away into 
the woods. She'd rather the b'ars would eat her up 
than be whipped. Her folks was a-hunting for her 
all day and couldn't find her, though she was in among 
some grapevines near enough to the road so she saw 
her father go along looking for her, and her little 
brother with him crying. Her father come to our 
house, and grandpaw try to get him to agree not to 
punish May if she come back, but he said, ' I shan't 
say what I will do to her, now, when I get my hands 
on her.' 

" He thought we were a-hiding of her, but we 
didn't know nothing where she was till she come 
around to the house that night after dark. For quite 
a while she was kept at father's house nights and hid 
in the fields daytimes. Her pappy had two men keep 
a watch on the house, but they was more in sympathy 
with her than him, and they never could see anything 
suspicious. Father said he thought he and mother 
better get married and done with it, and mother said 



On the Banks of the Ohio 



209 



she was willing to leave the deciding with her older 
brother Stephen. ' Whatever Stephen says, I'll do,' 
she said. So they had Stephen come and told him 
how things were, and he put his hand in his pocket 
and took out a handful of change and gave to her, and 
said, ' Here, May, go ahead ! ' 

" Then she and father got in a canoe and went 
down to Portsmouth, sixty miles. It was required 
them times to have their marriage intentions advertised 
from the pulpit by a minister of the gospel for ten 
days. But after that they was married, and then they 
paddled home. Grandpaw Fuller never could forgive 
that runaway wedding for a long time, but he did 
finally, and he got to think more of father than any 
son-in-law he had." 




Ratts on a Tributar\ 



IX 



A VIRGINIA WONDER 




'I'hc Natural Bridge 



I 



T was evening at 
the little railway 
station nearest 
the Natural Bridge. I 
had just arrived, and I 
wanted to find a lodg- 
ing-place. " Thar's a 
bis hotel three mile 
from hvar up at the 
Bridge," said a man 
to whom I appealed ; 
" but if you don't 
want to go so fur, 
thar's a widow woman 
takes boarders hyar 
in the village and I 
reckon she'd take you. 
She lives in that thar 
little brown house up 

the road whar you see that thar man out in front with 

a horse and buggy." 



A Virginia Wonder 2ii 

I turned my footsteps thither. The man with the 
horse and buggy was trying to make a sale of his 
outfit to the widow. " You c'n ride spang up to a 
railroad engine," said he, "with this hyar horse and 
shake hands with the engineer. He don't mind no 
more about an engine than he does about a gate-post," 
and the man went on to list the horse's other virtues, 
— apparently it had all there were and no faults, — 
"and I'll sell you the whole rig, horse, harness, 
buggy, blanket, and whip, for one hundred and fifteen 
dollars." 

If he told the truth in regard to the horse, the offer 
was equal to any twenty-nine cent bargain ever exploited 
in a department store, but the widow would not 
decide until she had consulted her relatives. When 
the man left 1 had no trouble in arranging for lodging, 
and while the evening light waned I sat on the house 
porch in company with the widow's son, a near-sighted 
little boy who was assiduously reading Rollins's " An- 
cient History." Reading, either for pleasure or 
instruction, is not indulged in nearly so generally in 
the South as in the North, and this boy conning that 
dry old history was something unique. 

Scarcely a stone's throw distant was the river James, 
here only a few rods broad ; and not many miles dis- 
tant, along the eastern borders of the valley, rose the 
Blue Ridge Mountains, lofty and serene. The great 
azure ranges rolled up into the eastern sky quite as 



2T2 Highways and Byways of the South 

enticingly the next morning, and the valley openings 
in among them seemed to offer such easy access to a 
closer acquaintance with the wooded heights that I 
could not resist the temptation to at once pay them a 
visit. I crossed the river and the intervening low- 
lands and entered a wide, half-timbered glen. There 
were occasional farm-houses, and there were occasional 
cultivated fields, though these fields were usually so 
strewn with stones you had to keep a sharp lookout 
to discern the soil. The farmers were scratching around 
with ploughs, harrows, and hoes, getting their corn into 
the ground, and I noted one field where some boys 
were planting an acre of watermelons. 

It was an ideal spring day. The sky was delicately 
blue, with here and there a fluffy cloud adrift on it; a 
soft breeze kept the new foliage in a constant ripple; 
the air was full of warmth and was vibrant with the 
twitter of birds and the buzzing of flies and bees. 
Flowers twinkleci amid the greenery, and sometimes 
an azalea bush made a pink mass of perfume, while 
everywhere were abounding dogwood blossoms look- 
ing like big snowflakes that had just floated down into 
the woodland. 

A stream coursed through the glen, and at short 
intervals where the road encountered it were rocky 
fords with an accompanying log spanning the current 
for the convenience of pedestrians. The creek had 
no sawmills or other manufacturing establishments on 



A Virginia Wonder 



213 




Planting Watermelons 

it, and its waters were uncommonly clear. The farther 
I went the more charmingly pelucid it became, and 
its music as it rustled along over the stones was a 
genuine forest melody. I liked to pause and watch it, 
and 1 was allured to drink from its cool rock pools 
every time I crossed it. But perhaps the finest water 
I had on the trip was from a little spring near the 
" Anderson State House." 



214 Highways and Byways of the South 

I did not understand, when this mansion was first 
mentioned, why there should be a state-house in 
so secluded and sparsely settled a mountain valley. 
However, I finally made out that it was simply the 
old family residence on the Anderson estate. The 
house was large and comfortable looking. It was in a 
little grove with numerous log outbuildings in the 
rear, and, at some remove a group of rude log dwellings 
much decayed and battered, that before the war had 
been slave quarters. In a ravine in front of the man- 
sion was an emerald-bordered rivulet. A foot-path 
led thither to a small log spring-house built directly 
over the brook; and if you looked through the crev- 
ices between the logs, you saw earthen crocks and 
jars set in the running stream. I could not help 
fancying that the farm milk, cream, and butter con- 
tained in these receptacles must be superlatively sweet 
and appetizing ; for was not nature herself taking care 
of them ? Here, too, was kept the upright, wooden 
churn, and on a few boards laid down on the stones 
before the door the churning and butter-making were 
done. Spring-houses are common in the South and 
give the country one of its most idyllic touches. 

I drank from a dipping-place hollowed out in the 
stream close beside the tiny log structure, and thus 
frightened half a dozen timid minnows that made their 
home in the pool. Just as I was rising from the 
refreshing draught a barefooted little girl came tripping 



A Virginia Wonder 



215 



down the path. She gave a startled glance at me from 
the depths of her sunbonnet and ran back. Then her 




A Spring-house 

father appeared and urged me to accompany him to 
the home porch, but I preferred to sit and visit with 
him in the shadow of the spring-house. 



2i6 Highways and Byways of the South 

" It was on my farm," said he, " that the first settler 
of the valley built his cabin. His name was Arnold. 
That was way back in Indian times and he made his 
livin' by hunting. One time when he was gone a few 
days to sell his hides another feller come up the valley. 
He had stoled him a girl, and wanted to get her away 
from where he'd be followed ; and he found Arnold's 
cabin and went in and made himself to home. By and 
by Arnold come back bringin' a runlet of whiskey on 
his shoulder, and he and the fellow that was at his 
cabin made friends, and the end of it was that Arnold 
give him the kag of whiskey for the girl. Arnold and 
this wife he bought with his whiskey lived in the valley 
the rest of their days, and there's many of their de- 
scendants in the country yet. 

" I'm glad I met up with you-all," remarked my 
host, cordially, when I rose to go, and he expressed 
regret that I could not stay longer. 

Like all Southern people, he had infinite leisure. 
The opinion is inherited from slavery times that lei- 
sure is a natural right of the white man and that work 
belongs to the " niggers." The situation was once ex- 
plained to me thus : " No, we don't hustle after the 
dollar the way you Yankees do. The Southern man 
with enough money in his pocket to live in a manner 
befitting his station this month, and with fair prospects 
of more for next month, will not worry or exert him- 
self because of possible emergencies in the dim future." 



A Virginia Wonder 



217 



I kept on and on until the zigzagging rail fences that 
had bordered the road ceased, and I was ascending 
a mountain in ahnost uninterrupted woodland. Here 
was still an occasional little house with a fenced-in 
garden patch and an adjoining field or two. The 




A Farmer's Boy 



cii8 Highways and Byways of the South 

cows roamed free and browsed on the low forest leaf- 
age. Now and then I would see one of them picking 
about in the underbrush, and I constantly heard the 
dull tink, tink, of the bells fastened to their necks. 

Noon came and the sun looked down into the forest 
depths and made the air along the ribbon of roadway 
palpitate with heat. It was doubly warm climbing, 
and after a time I concluded to turn back. I was 
getting hungry, and when I presently approached a 
small frame house and noted the chimney smoking 
suggestively, I clambered over the fence and rapped at 
the door. Around a table, inside, were a man and 
woman and a dozen children, more or less, eating 
dinner. Several of the lesser youngsters hastened to 
poke their heads out and have a look at me. They 
were so begrimed and ragged, they seemed more 
heathen than civilized; but the mother hustled them 
into a back room and set a chair out on the porch for 
me, and when the children reappeared their faces shone 
fresh from a scrubbing. 

The man of the house kept me company while the 
ham, hot biscuit, and coffee were being prepared. 
There were mountains near at hand which we could 
see over the tops of the trees surrounding the little 
clearing. " That thar," said the farmer, pointing to 
one of the heights, " is Panther Knob on the Wildcat 
Mountain ; and do you see that bare, stony place on 
it ? They call that ' The Devil's Marble Yard.' " 



A Virginia Wonder 



219 




A Load ot Logs 

Not far from where we sat was a row of beehives on 
the sunny side of a log shed. " Is this a good place 
for honey-making, with the woods all around ? " I 
inquired. 

"Oh, yes, sir," replied my companion, " thar's al- 
ways a crop of some kind of flowers hyar until frost 
comes ; and we have a heavy honey dew hyar the first 
part of the summer like, that on some trees is just the 
natural drops of honey. The bees get all they can 
carry of that dew till it dries off about eleven o'clock." 



220 Highways and Byways of the South 

The children had gathered about to listen, but now 
the smallest one raised the cry of " Scorpion ! " He 
had found a gray lizard with a blue tail crawling up 
the house weather-boards, and he and the others all 
grabbed sticks and would have killed it had I not 
taken its part. The older members of the family, as 
well as the younger, called it a scorpion and considered 
it " a powerful pizenous varmint." 

Down the road a short distance, in a brushy field, 
was a log schoolhouse about sixteen feet square. 
There were thirty-four children in the district of 
school age, and the building must have been badly 
crowded when school was in session, but it was in 
fairly good condition, and harmonized very well with 
the woodland scenery and the rugged blue mountains 
that loomed on every side. Some of the scholars 
continued in school until they were twenty-one, and 
they were allowed to go even after that age on pay- 
ment of a dollar a month. This charge, however, was 
practically prohibitive. I asked the man at the house 
where I had stopped if the older pupils did not make 
trouble for the teachers. 

" No, sir," was his response, " it's only the little 
fellers that are mean and devilish. When a boy gets 
to be fifteen or over, he's ashamed to misbehave thata- 
way." 

I ate dinner in the cook-room — a diminutive, 
barren apartment with just about space enough to ac- 




A Sunny Afternoon 



A Virginia Wonder 22 1 

commodate the stove and a small table. The table 
was very shaky in the legs, and wabbled alarmingly 
every time I attempted to cut my meat, and it no 
doubt performed a veritable St. Vitus's dance when the 
whole family were eating around it. The day was 
warm and the atmosphere in the little cook-room fairly 
sizzled. The stove was right at my elbow, and I was 
glad to escape to the outer air as soon as possible. 

I arrived at my starting-place in the early evening, 
and the following morning I was off for the Natural 
Bridge. The route was not unlike that I had trav- 
ersed up Arnold's Valley — sometimes bordered by 
farm fields, but for the most part through lonely 
woodland. Halfway there I overtook two bright little 
colored girls, and for a time walked along in their 
company. One of them carried a black hand-bag, and 
when we got acquainted, she confided that she was 
collecting money for the church. She took out a dirty 
card with figures around the edge — rows of ones, 
fives, and tens. Whenever a contribution was secured, 
a figure corresponding to the amount was crossed off" 
with a lead pencil. I noticed that the pencil had been 
used most on the one-cent rows. 

We had not gone far when the girls pointed out an 
elderly negro in a field on the edge of the woods and 
said he was their grandfather. He was splitting out 
roofing, and I went over to see how the work was 
done. He had cut down an oak tree that he thought 



12 2 Highways and Byways of the South 




Splitting out Sliingles from an Oak 

would be straight-grained, sawed it into three-foot 
lengths, and was now riving these blocks into thin 
boards which he later reduced to a more even thick- 
ness on a rude shaving-horse. I sat down and we had 



A Virginia Wonder 



223 



a talk. He told me he had a little farm of thirty or 
forty acres, and I asked if he knew of other colored 
people who owned their places. He paused in his 
work, shut one eye, and counted twenty-two persons 




A Home Gateway 



224 Highways and Byways of the South 

within a mile who had acquired such farms. " They 
didn't all get 'em fo' de right price, though," said he. 
" Hit seem like ev'y one want to gouge yo' dese days. 
But 1 doan' let 'em gouge me. I'm a little too ole 
in de haid. I done learnt a whole parcel." 

His children were all grown up. " I raised 'em on 
honest bread," he explained, " an' dar ain' never one 
of 'em given me no trouble. Dey make me proud. 
I ain' a shoutin' man, — an' I'm a Baptis', too, — but 
dey make me so proud I could jus' shout way over de 
highest hill you c'n see. De children are scattered 
now, an' I got one daughter in New York, an' hit's so 
long since I have hearn from her I reckon she mought 
be daid." 

Later, when I resumed the road, I fell in with 
another local resident, this time a white man who had 
been an officer in the Confederate army. I repeated 
what the colored man had said about the prevalence 
of " gouging." 

" Well," he commented, " there's some queer things 
in the South. You take the people in the mountains 
over in West Virginia and Kentucky — they're good 
enough until yo' do something they don't like and 
then they're terrible, and yo' got to look out or you'll 
get shot. The Virginians are different, and I always 
thought befo' the war they couldn't be equalled any- 
where ; but they been deiterating. They ain't what 
they used to be. A man would despise to do any- 





Companions 



A Virginia Wonder 225 

thing mean or underhand then. They were honorable 
and trustworthy and generous to a fault ; but now, as 
the nigger was tellin' you, you got to look out for 'em 
or they'll gouge you." 

The rude, country road I was following at length 
conducted me to a group of hotels and dwellings, and 
there I turned aside from the highway and descended 
a steep path shadowed by fine trees into a deep valley. 
Here was a brawling stream, and just around a turn 
loomed the bridge close at hand, two hundred and 
fifteen feet high, ninety in span, and one hundred 
broad. Its immensity quite took my breath away. 
Nothing one has read or imagined can wholly prepare 
the visitor for this herculean span of rock across that 
abysmal chasm. Viewed from below it seems lifted 
into the very sky. Trees and bushes grow on its top 
as on a mountain summit, and the swallows dart under 
it so far above the spectator as to make the arch appear 
like another firmament. The grace and regularity of 
the bridge suggest human handiwork, but doubtless 
in ages past the stream hollowed out a cavern in the 
valley, the roof of which all fell in long, long ago save 
for this sturdy fragment. 

Another interesting impression of the bridge is 
obtained by climbing out of the glen and following 
the country road across the arch. The road is fenced 
and is bordered by trees and bushes, and without 
investigation you would never suspect but that you 



226 Highways and Byways of the South 

were on soHd earth. Indeed, It is related that an 
army passed along this road during the Civil War, 
and not a man of the thousands in the command 
realized at the time that he was crossing the famous 
Natural Bridge. 

The bridge began to acquire notoriety in colonial 
days, and George Washington visited it on one of his 
youthful surveying trips. We are told that he is 
the only person ever known to throw a stone from 
the bottom of the bridge to the top. Where the 
stream flows under the arch, he carved his name on the 
precipitous rock wall twenty-five feet from the base 
and there you can see it even now. Apparently he 
took considerable pains to make his inscription so 
high up that no one would place a name above it. 
But, if so, he labored in vain, for many a man since 
has made the hazardous scramble and put himself 
on record above Washington's twenty-five-foot limit. 
The most remarkable exploit in this line was that of 
a young man who, early in the last century, after out- 
rivalling all his predecessors in the height to which 
he attained, found he was placed in such a situation 
that it was impossible to descend. 

To quote from an account written at the time : 
" There was no house near whence his companions 
could get assistance. He could not long remain in 
that condition, and his friends looked upon him as 
already dead, expecting every moment to see him 



A Virginia Wonder 227 

precipitated upon the rocks below and dashed to 
pieces. 

" Not so with himself. He determined to ascend. 
Accordingly he plied his knife, cutting places for his 
hands and feet in the soft limestone and gradually 
ascended with great labor. His companions stood at 
the top of the rock exhorting and encouraging him. 
He cut his way not far from two hundred and fifty 
feet from the water, in a course almost perpendicular; 
and in a little less than two hours his anxious com- 
panions reached him a pole from the top and drew 
him up. They received him with shouts of joy; but 
he himself immediately fainted, and it was some time 
before he could be recovered." 



X 



THE BATTLE-FIELD OF BULL RUN 



^•y. 



Stone Bridge over Bull Run 



H 



AVE a ride?" 
I had started 
on a six-mile 
walk from Manassas, 
or Manassah, as it is 
called locally, to the 
historic battle - field, 
and a carriage driven 
by a young man had 
overtaken me. The 
carriage stopped and I 
climbed in. At my 
companion's feet in 
the bottom of the ve- 
hicle was a square 
black valise, and he 
informed me that he 
was making a raid on 
the South with a Yankee patent medicine. I could 
not help thinking that the patent medicine would 
probably prove more deadly than the Northern bullets 
had in the late war. 

228 




The Battle-field of Bull Run 229 

The country round about dipped and rose in slight 
ravines and low hills, with open fields and patches of 
woodland following each other interminably. Houses 
were few and far between. Most of them were set well 
back from the highway, at the end of a lane to which 
you gained entrance from the main road by a big 
wooden gate. The lane was sometimes bordered by 
trees, but was seldom fenced. It led more or less 
directly through a great field that was perhaps under 
cultivation, yet oftenest was a pasture for horses and 
cattle. Barns were small and unsubstantial, and fre- 
quently a few makeshift hovels sufficed instead. Many 
farmers kept their cows and horses in long, rude sheds, 
eight or ten feet high, with sides of rails and poles, and 
the top piled over with straw. There was no pretence 
that the roof was rain-proof, and the structures looked 
as if they had been contrived by some primitive race 
of savages. 

The soil was a red clay, and the roads were the 
color of brick. They ran very straight for the most 
part; but they were rutted and rough, and I got well 
shaken while I was being taken by the patent medicine 
man, and of course he fared the same. " I feel like a 
kernel of corn in a popper," said he, "and I'm afraid 
these jolts will drive my spinal column up through my 
cranium." 

He stopped his horse once, when we met a native, 
and made some derogatory remark about the road, but 



230 Highways and Byways of the South 

the native assured us that it was very good compared 
with its winter condition. " There's mud then, shore," 
was his comment, "and it sticks closer than a brother; 
and it's so deep your horse can't hardly get along even 
without a load. I reckon the mud always has a bottom, 
but in winter it seem like there was spots where the 
bottom was too far down to find." 

Of all the roads that I became acquainted with in 
this region, the worst was the Warrenton Pike right 
on the battle-field. At some remote period a vast 
amount of stone had been dumped on it, and this stone 
had become more or less mixed with the red clay. 
The road may have been fairly good in that long-gone 
summer when the Federal troopers marched out on it 
from Washington ; but, if so, I should judge that during 
the battle the cannon-balls and bursting shells had shot 
it all to pieces and that it had never been repaired 
since — yet it is an important highway. I saw a huck- 
ster's team toiling over it going to the capital, thirty 
miles distant. The wagon was a big covered cart 
loaded with crates of live fowls, boxes of eggs, and 
other produce. It was drawn by four horses and 
came twenty miles or more from Rappahannock County, 
a county without railroads. How it did sway and jar! 
I pitied the chickens, and fancied the eggs must become 
omelets by the time they reached the journey's end. 

1 think many casual students of history have the 
impression that the battle-field took its name from the 



The Battle-field of Bull Run 



231 



disorderly haste with which the Northern soldiers 
departed after the fight, but in reality the name comes 




A HucKsLcr s 1 cam un the Wa\' to \^ ashington 

from that of a mild, muddy little river near which the 
engagement was fought. At the beginning of the con- 
flict the Confederate lines extended along the western 
branch of Bull Run for seven miles. The left flank 
was in the vicinity of a stone bridge on the Warrenton 
Pike, and there, soon after sunrise, on a scorching July 
day of 1 861, the battle opened. No very vigorous 
attempt was made, however, to force a passage of the 
stream at this point, and the main body of Federals 
made a long detour and crossed unopposed. When 
these troops arrived on the field the struggle began in 



232 Highways and Byways of the South 

earnest and the Confederates were forced back for 
about a mile across a shallow valley. But on the far 
side of the valley they formed along the crest of a slope, 
and the Union troops assailed them in vain. " Look 
at Jackson's brigade ! " said the Southern General Bee 
in the crisis of the battle, pointing to the troops that 
were bearing the brunt of the attacks. "It stands 
there like a stone wall ; " and thus originated the name 
which later became inseparable from the brigade's 
famous commander. 

Again and again the Federal regiments charged up 
the exposed slope, but a frontal attack on that ground 
was doomed. The assailants were cut to pieces every 
time, and when, about the middle of the afternoon, 
the Confederates were reenforced and charged in their 
turn, the Union forces gave way. They retreated 
grudgingly,contestingtheground until they were beyond 
Bull Run. Two miles farther on was another little river 
— Cub Run by name — and on the turnpike between the 
two streams were many army wagons. Here, too, were 
numerous carriages that had brought out the gentry of 
Washington to see the Northern soldiers " thrash the 
Rebs." Near" Cub Run, several steep-sided ridges 
ran athwart the turnpike, and the road was so extremely 
rough it might well make trouble even if there was 
no excitement. As soon as the drivers and onlookers 
along the turnpike became aware that the Federals 
were failing to give the Rebs their thrashing, the wagons 



The Battle-field of Bull Run 



n3 



and carnages turned about in all haste to seek safety, 
and things grew chaotic. Then a Confederate battery 
began dropping shells into the huddle of teams and 
the wildest confusion ensued. Every man looked out 
for himself, wagons were overturned, horses cut loose, 
the road was blocked, and the retreat of the army 
became a panic-stricken rout. 

One man 1 met at Bull Run had been a Union 
soldier. In explanation of this first great Northern 
defeat he had a theory which I thought very interest- 
ing. "At the time the war broke out," said he. 




The Spot where Stonewall Jackson was Wounded 



"guns were in much commoner use in the South 
than in the North, and familiarity with weapons has a 



234 Highways and Byways of the South 

great deal to do with making troops effective in battle. 
The Southern men, too, were more accustomed to the 
saddle, and so, as a whole, they had better cavalry. 
But they never at any time had better soldiers than 
the men from our newer states. I'm not saying those 
from the older states had less natural courage than 
those from the frontiers ; only that they in the begin- 
ning were at a disadvantage in the matter of shooting 
and rough living. About all the Confederate veterans 
I've talked with have the idea one of their men was 
equal to three or four of ours ; but after making 




On the Battle-field 



allowance for the advantage of being on the defensive 
and in their home country, they didn't average a bit 
better'n we did after our men got trained." 



The Battle-field of Bull Run 



^3S 



The Bull Run losses in killed and wounded were 
two or three thousand on a side — not nearly what 



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Feeding the Calf 

they were in many other battles of the war, but few 
conflicts were so momentous in their results. The 
victory gave the Southern cause backbone and 
brought to its aid thousands of waverers. Had the 
South suffered a decisive defeat, armed opposition to 
the government might have crumbled entirely away. 
Three or four houses still exist on the battle-field 



2^6 Highways and Byways of the South 

that were there during the fight. Notable among 
these is a large stone house beside the Pike that was 
used as a hospital by both armies. Another is a 
log dwelling occupied in war time by a family named 
Matthew. I got acquainted on the road with one of 
the present occupants of the Matthew house, and at 
parting he invited me to call on him. " Come in at 
meal-time, or any time, suh," said he, with true South- 
ern cordiality. 

This invitation I found it convenient to accept a 
day or two later, and I shared the family dinner, pay- 
ment for which was absolutely refused. " We don't 
never charge nothing to nobody," said my hostess. 
The dinner was an excellent one of the humbler South- 
ern type and I enjoyed it, save that the milk and 
butter tasted too emphatically of the wild onions that 
grew on the cows' grazing ground. 

I asked my entertainers if they ever picked up relics 
on the battle-field, and one of the boys brought forth 
a pan full of bullets, brass buttons, and other rubbish. 
Sometimes the plough turned them out, sometimes the 
field streams formed by heavy rains washed them into 
sight. Certain bullets of peculiar shape they said were 
poisoned, but they could give me no authority for 
this belief. They occasionally found bones, and they 
told me that in a brier patch in one of the fields was 
quite a pile of them thrown together around a stake. 

My hostess had been a little girl in war days. " We 




if ^< 



A PircHEK OF Milk. 



The Battle-field of Bull Run 



237 



lived at Thoroughfare Gap," she said, " and the sol- 
diers was goin' back and forth there all the time. We 
was very well treated usually, but I reckon we got 
along better than most. The troubles that people tell 
about was mainly owing to the fact that the laws 
wa'n't very well enforced and everybody got to sellin' 
whiskey. So it was easy for the soldiers to get drunk, 
and then you wouldn't know what they'd do. For a 
long time we had some Union troops camped jus' out- 
side my mother's fence. We was for the South, but 
they never done us no harm, and often they'd come 
in and talk very friendly with mother, and with father, 
too, who was an invalid and couldn't get around much. 

" We had four or five cows, and the cows had to 
feed right on the soldiers camping-ground. I used to 
go after the cows every night, and a good many times 
the soldiers would help me get 'em. I was a little shy 
of the soldiers at first, but I got over that pretty soon. 
Maw, she'd always have drinkin' water ready for 'em, 
and when they were marching past, she'd tell me to 
carry it out to 'em. Sometimes she'd do cooking for 
'em. She say they were away from their mother and 
she couldn't be rough to 'em. She never make no 
charge for what she do, but they was boun' to pay, 
and if she wouldn't take nothing, they'd give money 
to us children. 

" One time some of Mosby's rebel cavalry made a 
raid up that way. They cleaned out Mawmaw's meat 



238 Highways and Byways of the South 

house — stole all there was in it — and she told 'em, 
'The Northern men treat me a heap better'n you-all 
do.' Oh, she had a powerful talk with 'em. They 
took everything they had any use for wherever they 
were. I remember they had their horses hitched down 
the road, and father and my brother Tom went to 
look at the critters, and Tom, he took particular notice 
of one, and he said: 'Pap, I know this horse. It's 
got a glass eye. It's Aunt Betsey's horse;' and it 
was. Mosby's men had stolen it, but we didn't dare 
try to get it or make any fuss. 

" I lived at Thoroughfare Gap until I growed up 
and ran away to Washington to get married. Then 
I come hyar." 

In all this section of the South running away to get 
married was accounted rather the nicest method for a 
young couple to become man and wife, and the easiest 
way to have a wedding trip, A railroad conductor on 
the line that traverses the Shenandoah Valley told me 
his train carried on an average three runaway couples 
a day. "You c'n always tell a wedding couple — you 
bet you can," said he. " They think it is something 
big to get away from home to marry. Hagarstown is 
their popular resort on my line. One minister there 
has been marrying five hundred a year right along, 
and that's a devil of a mess of them. His usual fees 
are from twenty-five cents to five dollars. He won't 
take anything less than a quarter, and he's turned a 



The Battle-field of Bull Run 



239 



many of 'em down because they hadn't that quarter. 
I know of one couple that went up to Hagarstown 
and got married, and then didn't have money to take 
'em both home. It was seventy miles, and she went 
along alone on the regular train and he beat his way 
back on a freight." 

The last forenoon that I spent on the battle-field a 
shower overtook me, and I made haste to the nearest 
shelter. This proved to be a house that in ante- 
bellum days was the dwelling of a negro, " Ole Jim 
Robinson." He was free himself, but he married a 
slave, and therefore his children were all born into 
bondage. Two of them he bought. The house at 









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240 Highways and Byways of the South 

the time of the war was a small log cabin. It has 
been added to since, but the older portion is practi- 
cally what it was, and there are numerous bullet-holes 
in the weather-boarding. Some of the trees, too, in 
the yard still bear the scars of battle. Ole Jim Rob- 
inson's son now lives in the house and cares for the 
little farm that goes with it. He came in out of the 
rain soon after I did and reported that he had seen 
the tracks of a 'possum on the borders of the corn-field 
where he had been " harr'in'," 

" Is you ? " said his wife. "Well, yo' let him alone. 
Doan' yo' bring no possum into dis house." 

" Mother won't eat 'possum," explained the man. 
" She say dey look too easy. Yo' know when dey 
git ketched hit always seem like dey laughin' an' 
dey lie still an' make believe dey daid — an' when dey 
think yo' left 'em dey creep off jus' as mean ! We 
hunt 'em in de night an* tree 'em wid a dog. If 
de possum git in a small tree, we knock him out, an' 
if de tree is large, we sometimes cut it down an' 
sometimes climb up it. We mos' gener'ly ketch de 
'possum alive. He'll bite yo' if he can, an' we tote 
him home by puttin' his tail in a split stick dat pinch 
it tight an' keep him remind dat he is ketched. We 
carry de stick over our shoulder, an' when we git 
home, y</e put him under a tub to stay till nex' day." 

I was in the family living room — a cluttered kitchen 
with broken and grimy plastering, and, conspicuous 



The Battle-field of Bull Run 241 

among its humble furnishings, a bed and two tables 
beneath which was a medley of pots, kettles, boxes, 
and odds and ends. A fireplace served to do all the 
cooking, for the Robinsons had no stove. At one 
side of it was a pile of wood and chips and on the 
other side a basket covered with a bag — the tempo- 
rary quarters of a brood of young ducks. Two clocks 
stood on the mantle with a lantern between them. 
One clock did not go and the other was far from cor- 
rect. "In slavery times we never had no clocks," 
said the woman, " so I never learnt to take care of 
'em, an' I doan' have anything to do wid 'em now. 
My ole man, he doan' tend to 'em very good either, 
an' sometimes dey'll be unwound three or four days." 

In one corner was a bureau, and on top was the 
family library consisting of a Bible and a recent sub- 
scription-book life of Queen Victoria. I asked the 
woman if she had read the latter, and she replied 
jocosely : " Good gracious of Father ! I cain't read. 
What talkin' about ! I never went to school an' I 
doan' know nothin' much. I been workin' in de 
cotton patch nearly all my life either hyar or down in 
Georgy. I was raised hyar, but after I marry, I an* 
my ole man was sol' an' took down in Georgy." 

" Where were you in Georgia ? " I inquired. 

" Well, dat gets me. 'Deed, I cain't tell yo' to 
save my life. I done forgot, but hit was a right smart 
step from hyar. My master dar was a good man. 



242 Highways and Byways of the South 

but his wife was a rattlesnake. Sho's you born she 
was ! She said I'd been sp'iled, an' so I got my back 
whipped." 

The shower which had interrupted my rambling was 
soon over, but it was then noon and I was hungry. I 
asked Mrs. Robinson if she could get dinner for me. 
I was quite ready to eat whatever her larder afforded, 
and she hustled around in preparation, and two little 
boys, Jimmy and Albert, her grandsons, helped. She 
adjusted the smouldering sticks in the fireplace and 
had Jimmy fan the embers into a blaze with a turkey 
wing. " Albert," said she, pointing to the chips, " yo' 
put on dat trash dar. Make has', or the kittle won't 
boil till night. God knows it won't. Dis gemmen's 
hungry. Well, I do think in my soul yo' won't hurry 
to save no one's life. Now bring in some brush from 
the yaird." 

She mixed up a pan of batter and went to the door 
to see why Albert had not returned. The wind had 
blown down a big limb from a cherry tree near the 
house during the previous night, and the youngster 
was breaking off dead twigs for the fire and at the 
same time eating green cherries. "Albert, yo' come 
hyar ! " she exclaimed severely. " If yo' don't, I'll 
half kill yo'." 

The boy approached reluctantly, and she knocked 
from his hands the cherries that he still retained. " I 
reckon I'll have to be po'in' the medicine into you all 




A Ni 



EGRo s Woodpile 



The Battle-field of Bull Run 243 

de time if you doan' leave dem cherries alone," said 
she. 

Meanwhile the fire had been getting low for lack of 
fuel, and she went out herself to see about the where- 
withal for its replenishing. The woodpile was reduced 
to one long, tough stick ; but she chopped off an end 
and scraped up a few chips and presently had the fire 
briskly blazing. Then she took a spade minus a 
handle that served as a fire shovel and poked some 
coals out on the hearth. Over the coals she set a 
long-legged griddle which she had Jimmy wipe off 
and grease. He seemed to be expert at this task, and 
I hinted that he could probably do the cooking for the 
whole family if necessary. 

Jimmy giggled, and his grandmother said reprov- 
ingly : " Wha' yo' laughin' at? I'll take sompin' and 
knock yo' down. If I 'pen' on you fo' a cook, I 
reckon I'd pe'ish." 

At length the " flam cakes " were fried, the tea was 
ready, and she had Jimmy crawl under the bed and ex- 
hume some knives, forks, and spoons from a box. 
These he handed up one at a time, and she wiped 
each in turn and placed it on the table. She also 
provided a remnant of cold ham, and a little white 
sugar in a broken bowl. Yet the meal, though rude 
and long delayed, was not unpalatable, and my visit 
in that negro home was one of the most interesting of 
my experiences on the battle-field. 



XI 

JOHN brown's town 




' ri 



A R PE R'S 
FERRY is 

the most pic- 
turesque village I have 
seen in America. The 
surrounding scenery is 
beautiful and impres- 
sive — steep, wooded 
mountains, cliffs, and 
tangled hills, and the 
Shenandoah and Po- 
tomac rivers flowing 
through the valley 
depths. In the angle, 
where the two rivers 
unite, stands the town, 

built tier on tier along 
A Doorstep Maid ^j^^ ^j^p^^ ^^ ^,^ ^^^^.^p^ 

and lofty hill. Some of the buildings are many stories 
high on the lower side. They are usually of brick or 
stone, and have frequent dormer windows in the roofs, 

244 



~^. 



John Brown's Town 245 

immense chimneys, and quaint piazzas and porches. I 
was constantly reminded of ancient Edinburgh, and 
I do not know where else I could go either South or 
North to get such a flavor of trans-Atlantic archi- 
tecture and venerableness. 

Evidently the village was formerly more populous; 
for vacant, half-ruinous structures are common, and 
windowless, staring walls are not lacking. The streets 
are narrow and rough, the walks of uneven slabs of 
stone. A Catholic church perched on a blufi-' above 
the hamlet does much to give the place distinction. It 
has a tall spire surmounted by a golden cross, and 
wherever you go you see this church looming sky- 
ward. The chief approach to it is by irregular terraces 
of steps cut in the solid rock, and these steps climb 
upward between various old houses and shanties and 
shabby garden fences. 

I arrived at Harper's Ferry in the evening, and was 
no sooner ofi^the train than I was accosted by a ragged, 
barefooted little boy, who said his name was Benjamin 
Harrison Butts. He wanted to guide me to a lodging- 
place. His recommendations of the particular house 
he would have me patronize were very ardent — the 
rooms, the food, and the woman who kept it were all 
superlative, and I allowed him to take me in charge. 
The house proved to be an antiquated structure with 
extremely thick stone walls, on a narrow street, neigh- 
boring a number of similar dwellings. 



246 Highways and Byways of the South 

I thought the village quite rural and domestic when 
I awoke the next morning, for although there was a 
rumble of wheels on the rough town ways, I at the 
same time heard roosters crowing, and the twitter of 
swallows as they darted above the housetops, and the 
daybreak, carols of other birds. Just before going 
downstairs to breakfast I looked out of my window 
and saw the proprietor of a shop on the opposite side 
of the street seated in front of his place of business 
with a little rifle across his knees. He was watching 
for rats, and this was his chief employment the day 
through. He had sprinkled some corn on the walk 
to entice his game from beneath the building, and 
whenever a rat came in sight, he crouched stealthily 
forward, took careful aim, and banged away. I did 
not see any other hunters among the village tradesmen, 
but they all spent a good deal of time in front of their 
emporiums idling at their ease, absorbing tobacco, and 
talking with such loiterers as chose to stop. Some of 
their shops were very curious little affairs and had old- 
fashioned show windows that were nightly protected 
against intruders by folding wooden shutters. 

Benjamin Harrison Butts waylaid me while I was 
making my first tour of the town, and nothing would 
do but he must show me around. In his opinion one 
of the chief attractions of the vicinity was "John 
Brown's Cave," and we went two miles up the river 
and found a low tunnel-like aperture running back into 



John Brown's Town 



247 




An Old Mill 

a clIfF beside the railway. There is a tradition that 
Brown lived in the cave for a time ; but he probably 
never knew of it, though it is not by any means insig- 
nificant, and has a length of a mile or more, and 
expands here and there into considerable chambers. 

Not far beyond the cave, in a half-wooded hollow, 
through which courses a swift little tributary of the 
Potomac, stands an ancient grist-mill. It is a good- 



24B Highways and Byways of the South 

sized stone structure, with a slow-revolving overshot 
wheel on one side. Close by, just above a ford, was a 
footbridge, one plank broad, and here two boys were 
paddling about in the water. An older sister was with 
them. She was planning to go fishing, for she had a 
hoe and was digging in likely spots alongshore for 
worms to use as bait. Meanwhile the boys were busy 
with a small tin can into which they hoped to inveigle 
some innocent minnows. Benjamin Harrison Butts 
was interested in their wiles with the tin can, and went 
and advised with them. He was a fisherman himself, 
and had several hooks stuck through the lapel of his 
coat ready for instant use when the occasion demanded. 
He became so absorbed that he was reluctant to go 
farther with me, and I left him behind. His excuse 
for staying was that he did not feel well. He thought 
the weather was unusually warm for the month of 
May. " When the sun is so hot this time of year," 
said he, "it gives you the spring fever — the ' hardly 
able ' fever." 

On my way back I stopped at a schoolhouse for 
colored children. It was decidedly better than the 
average of buildings devoted to negro child education, 
and was quite presentable, though some of the window- 
panes were broken and the holes stopped with papers 
and rags. The interior was fairly good, too ; the seats 
were modern, and on the walls were a number of maps 
and unframed pictures. The master was an intelligent 



John Brown's Town 



249 



and well-educated young man, and I thought he was 
doing excellent work. He had a kindly way with the 
children, and yet I noticed a savage-looking strap 
hanging conveniently near his desk. During recita- 




A (^)uestion 



250 Highways and Byways of the South 

tions the children ordinarily remained in their seats 
and rose when they were called on by the master ; but 
for spelling they stood in a straggling semicircle around 
the platform. They did a good deal of wriggling dur- 
ing the spelling, even turned their backs to the teacher, 
or rested one foot on the platform, or retired a few 
paces and leaned against a desk ; and one boy went 
clear to the rear of the room and spit out of the door 
and leisurely returned. But the children were amiable 
and bright, and they acquitted themselves on the whole 
very creditably. 

The great event in the history of Harper's Ferry 
was John Brown's raid, in the autumn of 1859. Every 
one in town knows the story of it, and many person- 
ally experienced its terror. A monument near the 
railway station marks the place where formerly was 
"John Brown's Fort," as the small brick fire-engine 
house came to be called in which he made his final 
defence. The raid was a thunderbolt out of a clear 
sky. To quote a citizen with whom I talked in his 
home kitchen, " We were as much surprised as you 
would be if I was to pick up that tea-kettle there on 
the stove and throw it at your head." 

The town was at that time a place of five thousand 
inhabitants, and its chief industry was the manufacture 
of arms in a government armory. Brown, with his 
companions, some months preceding their foray, rented 
a farm five miles distant on the Maryland side of the 




A Chat on the Road 



John Brown's Town 251 

Potomac. It lay in a secluded woodland hollow among 
the high hills, and their home was a two-story log house 
no longer standing. The region, however, is much 
the same as it was then, though the cultivated area and 
number of families has somewhat increased. Another 
building which figured in the raid was a small log 
schoolhouse about a mile back from the river. It's 
site was pointed out to me by a man who lived close 
by. He was just coming out of his home gate, and 
I was returning from a visit to the farm Brown had 
rented. " Thar's whar it stood," said he, " right over 
the fence near that brook you see yonder. Brown 
intentioned to make it a depot of arms, and three of 
his men got in thar endurin' the night of the raid and 
filled it up with pikes and rifles, and when the school- 
master come they made him prisoner and drove away 
the scholars. John Smith — that was what Brown 
called himself — and the rest of 'em had been aroun' 
hyar most of the summer. They attended chu'ch right 
smart, and they were all nice gentlemen. Ever'body, 
pretty much, liked 'em, and we had no i-dea about 
their havin' an insurrection. I used to meet Brown on 
the road now and then. I ricolect I met him over to 
Snufftown one day. That's a place got its name when 
thar wa'n't only three or four families livin' thar, and 
they all chewed snuff. People hyar have all called it 
Snufftown ever since, though the name in writin' is 
Elk Ridge. 



252 Highways and Byways of the South 

" This place whar I live is Pleasant Grove, but it 
use' to be called Mosquitoesville. I don't know why. 
Thar ain't no mosquitoes hyar. You have to have 
stagnated water to raise mosquitoes, and we only got 
running brooks. 

" Wal, about this Brown affair — I was a-workin' 
with some other men a few miles up the river at the 
time the trouble broke loose, and the first what we see 
that was queer was the trains standin' on the railway. 
Brown had stopped 'em and thar they stood — a long 
line of 'em whistlin' and snortin', and we thought the 
bridge had broke down or something. Then a man 
come along and said John Smith was thar at Harper's 
Ferry killing men, women, and children. But he 
didn't know what he was a-doin' it for ; nor nobody 
didn't have the least notion what it all meant at first. 
They couldn't tell head nor tail of it. 

" Of co'se we wanted to find out what was goin' on, 
and we broke off work and went down to the town. I 
allowed it was rather risky, but I soon see Brown didn't 
molest nobody exceptin' those that carried weapons, or 
that was jukin' round whar they had no business. He 
gobbled up quite a number of men and put 'em in the 
ingin' house, and he kep' 'em thar until the soldiers 
come and made him a prisoner. They didn't do that 
without a heap of fightin', and the way they captured 
the ingin' house was to get a great long ladder, which 
they butted agin the door a few times and busted it in." 



John Brown's Town 



^53 



At the close of these reminiscences the man said 
that when we met he had been on his way to look at 




A Hillside Highway 

a field he had planted to potatoes. " They're just 
comin' up," he explained, "and the bugs are a-gettin' 



254 Highways and Byways of the South 

after 'em. Them bugs are a kind of beetle that's 
shaped a good deal like a terrapin, only they are 
smaller and their shell is striped black and yellow. 
They don't eat the vines much, but they lay eggs, and 
the grubs that hatch from those eggs are terrible. 
Why ! I've seen vines all e't bare by 'em. The 
beetles crawl down under the lumps of dirt in the 
heat of the day, and if you go along then with a stick 
and poke over the nubs of earth around the vines, you 
c'n find 'em and pinch off their heads. I don't see 
'em all, though, and I don't know but they're goin' to 
get the best of me. 1 got a pest on my peach trees, 
too. The worms are so bad on 'em I've about con- 
cluded to give up raisin' peaches. Some sprays their 
trees, but it don't do no good. Thar ain't much use 
for a man to work agin Providence. 

" I'm glad I met up with you," the man remarked 
when we parted, and then he continued up the road 
and I went on down — down the same road that John 
Brown's little band had gone on that eventful Sunday 
night in October, 1859. 

What I learned of Brown at Harper's Ferry con- 
sisted of fragmentary bits of gossip, but the whole 
story of his life is intensely interesting and dramatic. 
He was born at Torrington, Connecticut, in the year 
1800, but the family moved to Ohio while he was 
still a child, and in that then rough frontier country 
he grew to manhood. His father taught him the 



John Brown's Town 2^^ 

tanner's trade, but he was restless and visionary and 
that calling was soon abandoned. He tried surveying, 
studied for the ministry, farmed for a time, speculated 
in real estate, dealt in cattle, undertook sheep-raising, 
became a wool-factor, and finally attempted to establish 
a colony of free negroes in the Adirondacks. In noth- 
ing did he attain more than a temporary success, but he 
was not the less ardent to enter on some new scheme 
when the spirit moved. He went to Kansas in 1854, with 
money and arms contributed in the North, to contest 
the controlof the state with the upholders of slavery. 

Meanwhile he had been twice married and nineteen 
children had been born to him. In Kansas he became 
the head of a band of adventurers including several of 
his sons, and he did ardent work for the cause he had 
espoused, though this was often foolhardy, and some 
of his acts were scarcely less atrocious than those ot 
the lawless guerillas he combated. He was a man of 
great courage and honesty, with a strong will and un- 
usual physical energy, but oversanguine and fanatical 
and rude. In his way he was deeply religious ; he 
knew the Bible thoroughly and he thought that angels 
guided him. His manner was impressive, his words 
blunt and dogmatic. In appearance he was tall and 
slender; in dress half deacon and halt soldier. His 
hair was thick and bushy, his face smooth-shaven until 
his last years, when he wore a full beard. This beard 
on the day of the raid is described as hanging in snowy 



256 Highways and Byways of the South 

waves to his breast, making his aquiHne features seem 
singularly wild. 

By 1857 affairs in Kansas became more orderly, 
and Brown's thoughts were soon evolving new plans 
in the cause of freedom. These plans continued vague 
and illogical to the last. Their essential purpose was 
to start a slave insurrection somewhere in the Virginia 
mountains. Then he thought enthusiasts would join 
him from the North, and fugitive slaves flock to his 
assistance from the South. He would take advantage 
of the natural strongholds of the mountains and evade 
such attacks as he could not overcome ; he would raid 
the adjacent plantations for supplies. A struggle of 
this sort, he argued, could be indefinitely prolonged, 
and its success would result in the wiping out of slav- 
ery by law. If, at the worst, the project failed, he 
would retreat with his followers through the free states 
to Canada. He proposed to put rifles and revolvers 
into the hands of all his adherents who were capable 
of using such weapons, while those unused to firearms 
would be furnished with pikes. Brown made his plans 
known to a little company of New England abolition- 
ists, and while they considered the scheme both unwise 
and doomed to failure, they felt they could not desert 
Brown who plainly would not be turned from the 
course on which he had determined. They therefore 
furnished him money ; he bought guns and ammuni- 
tion, and had a thousand pikes manufactured. 



John Brown's Town 



257 




Some Fun in a Boat 



Now he concluded to start operations by capturing 
the United States armory and arsenal at Harper's 
Ferry, This would be a great help in equipping the 
numerous sympathizers he expected would promptly 



258 Highways and Byways of the South 

come to his aid. In order to study the situation at 
close range and thus gain knowledge to enable him 
to operate with precision when the proper time came, 
he rented the Kennedy farm five miles from Harper's 
Ferry, on the Maryland side of the Potomac, and 
made that his headquarters. Here he and his little 
band lived for several months, secretly getting together 
arms and ammunition, blankets, tents, and other neces- 



'' --j^^Ji^k.^' .♦ 




' 


U- ' 


■£^^^^plO^' 1L 


■■-'''-.• 


-^ 










jbL| 


mmp 


Se^aSS 


.,.i 


H| 



The Church Brown attended 

saries for a campaign. Their rather eccentric actions 
seem to have aroused no suspicion among the neigh- 
bors. They made some pretence of innocent occupa- 
tion, and occasionally went poking about the mountain 
sides with picks and spades, excavating a little here and 
there to convey the impression that they were pros- 



John Brown's Town 259 

pecting for minerals. This was readily accepted as 
their real purpose, for it was in accord with the general 
belief that the wild crags of the vicinity sheltered 
precious ores of fabulous value, and that discovery and 
development only awaited the eye of science and the 
hand of industry. 

About eight o'clock on Sunday evening, October 
16, 1859, Brown's little company, with a one-horse 
wagon containing a few pikes and other implements, 
started for Harper's Ferry, which they reached two 
hours later. The entire force consisted of twenty-two 
men, but three of them did not cross the river. Five 
of the remaining nineteen were negroes, and it is a 
curious fact that while all the whites had been accorded 
offices in the provisional government Brown had 
planned, the blacks continued plain citizens and 
privates. 

The raiders took possession of the bridge across the 
Potomac and of the bridge, close by, that spanned the 
Shenandoah a few rods back from where it joins 
the larger stream. Brown soon was master of the 
armory, the arsenal, and the rifle factory, and had 
captured the watchmen. Then he sent six of his fol- 
lowers a few miles out into the country to bring 
in certain of the prominent slaveholders with their 
slaves. The mission was successfully accomplished, 
and the slaveholders were imprisoned in the armory. 
The blacks were armed with pikes, but proved entirely 



l6o Highways and Byways of the South 

inefficient, and no doubt were a good deal befogged as 
to what was expected of them, and indeed as to the 
meaning of the strange events of the night in general. 




The Meeting of the Rivers 

A four-horse farm wagon had been confiscated on 
the foray among the plantations, and Brown ordered 
a detachment to take this wagon to the house that had 
been his home over in Maryland, and bring a load 
of pikes and rifles down to a schoolhouse not far from 
the river on the other side, and there store them. In 
the town itself a train had been held three hours before 
it was allowed to proceed, a negro had been shot by 
Brown's men, and all citizens who wandered into prox- 
imity with the invaders were being taken in charge as 



John Brown's Town 261 

fast as they came. By daybreak Brown had with him 
in the armory prisoners to the number of forty or 
fifty. Thus far everything had been done so quietly 
that the townspeople had no comprehension of the 
nature and extent of the trouble, and practically all 
save those who had been made prisoners slept on as 
usual. Even when the negro was shot the town was 
not aroused. 

How strange a coincidence that the first person 
killed by these would-be freers of the slaves should 
be a colored man ! He had gone to the bridge to 
speak with the night watchman posted there, but the 
watchman had been taken prisoner. When Brown's 
men confronted the newcomer with their guns and 
commanded him to halt, he was frightened and took to 
his heels, and they stopped him with a bullet. Several 
persons living near the bridge heard the sound of the 
firing, and some of them got up and looked out of 
their windows to learn the cause. It was densely dark, 
they could see nothing suspicious, and there was no 
more noise. They therefore returned to their beds 
with the thought that the disturbance was the result 
of midnight revellers shooting off their pistols in 
sport. 

When Monday dawned and the armory bell failed 
to ring at the customary time and the citizens dis- 
covered what had happened, the more adventurous got 
out their guns and, from such points of vantage as 



262 Highways and Byways of the South 

they could select, began a desultory fusillade on the 
raiders. They proceeded, however, with caution, for 
all sorts of wild rumors and exaggerations were rife, 
and they at first imagined the insurgents were a con- 
siderable force. The equipment of the citizens for 
warfare was but slender. The stores and the arsenal 
were in Brown's possession, and for some time the 
only weapons they had to oppose him were a few 
squirrel guns and fowling-pieces. Such, too, was the 
scarcity of ammunition that they were soon melting 
household pewter and moulding it into bullets for the 
occasion. 

Brown had ordered that no life should be taken 
when it could be avoided, and during the fighting he 
often restrained his men from firing on unarmed citi- 
zens. Monday morning he tried to effect an armistice 
to save bloodshed, but this was refused, and from 
that moment his situation was hopeless. He was in 
a trap. His men were scattered in four or five parties, 
without means of mutual support or communication, 
and they had no supplies of either provisions or am- 
munition. By Monday noon all those in the detach- 
ment at the rifle works, a mile from the armory up the 
Shenandoah, had been driven out, killed, or captured. 
The other squads joined their leader in the armory, 
and as the prospect grew more desperate they took 
refuge in the little fire-engine house near the railway, 
carrying with them ten selected prisoners. Shots were 




Beside the Potomac 



John Brown's Town 263 

constantly being exchanged with their assailants, who 
were all the time becoming more numerous. The 
whole country was aroused, military companies were 
arriving, and at length Brown parleyed for leave to 
retire across the river on condition that he gave up his 
prisoners. Again he was refused. Night came. It 
had rained a little all day, and the atmosphere was raw 
and cold. Now a clouded, moonless sky overhung 
the scene of conflict. The firing had ceased and the 
engine house was shrouded in total darkness. That 
evening eighty marines from the Washington Navy 
Yard reached Harper's Ferry. They were under the 
command of Colonel Robert K. Lee, who later was 
the chief leader of the Confederate armies. Early the 
next morning he summoned Brown to surrender, and 
not getting a satisfactory response, ordered his men to 
charge. The engine-house doors were soon battered 
down, there was a short, sharp action, and the affair 
was ended. Brown was severely wounded, two of his 
sons lay dead or dying, and all the party who were in 
the engine house were made prisoners. Of the total 
force of twenty-two men who engaged in the raid, five 
escaped, ten were killed, and seven were hanged. Five 
of the townspeople lost their lives and eight were 
wounded, and one of the marines was killed. 

Brown was tried for treason, conspiracy, and mur- 
der. He acknowledged his acts with frankness, de- 
fended himself with evident sincerity, and bore his 



264 Highways and Byways of the South 

wounds and met his fate with admirable fortitude. He 
had aroused bitter animosity against himself, but his 
stoical courage won the applause even of his enemies. 
John Brown died, but however mistaken and repre- 
hensible his course may have been, " his soul went 
marching on," To quote the eloquent words of Fred- 
erick Douglass : " Until this blow was struck, the pros- 
pect for freedom was dim, shadowy, and uncertain. 
The irrepressible conflict was one of words, votes, and 
compromises. When John Brown stretched forth his 
arm the sky was cleared — the time for compromise 
was gone — the armed hosts of freedom stood face to 
face over the chasm of a broken Union, and the clash 
of arms was at hand." 



XII 



THE COTTON PATCH IN HARVEST TIME 




October in South Carolina 



w 



HEREVER 

in the South 
you find cul- 
tivated fields, you are 
very sure to find cot- 
ton. If we except a 
few limited districts, 
there is scarcely a farm 
large or small but that 
devotes a part of the 
land, and usually a 
large part, to this crop. 
Thus, when I wanted 
to see cotton-picking 
in progress, I had only 
to go South in the 
early autumn and stop 
off at almost any point I pleased. I selected a place 
in South Carolina a hundred miles more or less from 
Charleston. This place proved, on acquaintance, to 
be a scattered, raw, half-wild little town. 

265 



266 Highways and Byways of the South 

The hamlet had two hotels, and I was told that no 
matter which one 1 went to I would wish I had gone 
to the other. I do not know just how literally the 
statement was intended, but certainly a half day at the 
Eagle House convinced me I should have patronized 
its rival. It was battered, dingy, and disreputable, 
the fooci was poor, and the talk I heard in the office 
had more swear words to the sentence than I would 
have thought it possible to interpolate. A leading 
character in the office was a man known as " Pinky 
Simmons." Another was an elderly resident of the 
hotel who was a good deal of an invalid. Much of 
the time he was groaning and wishing for morphine. 
The others said that when he slept after he had been 
drinking he " saw the blue monkeys," and the old 
man himself related how he had been disturbed the 
night previous by a colt that sat on the foot-board of 
his bed and gibed at him — whereat the company all 
laughed heartily. I learned that the frequenters of 
the hotel had the reputation of being professional 
gamblers, with Pinky Simmons as the leading spirit, 
and that certain rooms were reserved for the use of the 
elite of the region, and could only be entered by such 
as the landlord knew could be trusted. At any rate 
the conversation which came to my ears was very 
largely concerned with gaming, and I heard mention of 
playing poker all night, and of the increasing excite- 
ment and increasing stakes as the hours slipped away, 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 267 

and of one individual who " had a big roll on " — 
more than a thousand dollars — and lost it all, leaving 
him " with not enough money to get out of town." 

The surrounding country gave ample opportunities 
for seeing the cotton harvest. I did not have to go 
far from the village before I began to find the cotton 
patches, varying from those containing an acre or two 
neighboring a negro cabin, up to fields of a hundred 
acres on some large plantations. The number of pickers 
in the different fields varied likewise. There might be 
only a single person picking, or there might be a scat- 
tered score or more. The crops were good, bad, and 
indifferent — mostly depending on the care bestowed 
and the fertilizing. "That's a nigger's cotton," said a 
man to me when I asked him about some earth-hugging 
little stuff that had not attained one fourth the normal 
growth. The really good crops grew waist high, and 
the plants were snowflaked all over with the bursting 
bolls. Such fields were a sight to rejoice the eves. 

The district also devoted a good deal of attention 
to tobacco raising, and every plantation had several 
square little " barns " in which the crop was cured. 
Each barn had a shed roof projecting from the front, 
and under this roof were openings into two brick ovens. 
When a barn was filled, slow fires were kindled in the 
ovens and kept burning three days and nights, and 
then the tobacco was ready for stripping, packing in 
hogsheads, and shipping to market. 



268 Highways and Byways of the South 

In my rambling I followed the " big roads " and 
the side ways and even the "nigger paths" until I 
became pretty thoroughly acquainted with the region ; 
and then I resumed my railway journey and went on 
to another place that I fancied would be attractive 
from its situation on the map. I was a little dis- 
appointed on alighting from the train to see nothing 
save a rude station and two small stores with forest all 
about. The only white man who lived near was the 
station master, and when I observed more closely, I 
found he had a humble abode attached to the station 
at the rear. I could get lodging with him, I was told, 
but it was dangerous. I did not understand — he 
looked mild and amiable enough. 

What I had to fear, however, was malaria. A mile 
or two away was the marshy Cooper River, and the 
station was on the alluvial lowlands. A very few 
nights spent on these lowlands would result in serious 
and possibly fatal illness. Yet the station master had 
lived there twenty-five years. He seemed to be fever 
proof, and he thought the rest of the whites were super- 
stitious on the subject. None of them would stay a 
night in the low country except in cold weather, and 
even the keepers of the two little stores had their 
houses on the pinelands three or four miles distant. 
Thither I went, too. 

I started to walk, but was soon overtaken by a 
negro driving an ox-cart, and I rode with him as far as 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 



269 



he went. He had a single ox harnessed like a horse 
and hitched between the cart shafts. The ox wore a 




An Ox in Harness 

bridle, had a bit in its mouth, and was guided with rope 
reins. The negro kept gadding on the beast with the 
rope ends and we progressed at a brisk, jerky walk. 
My companion had only lived in this section a year. 
He had bought a piece of forest, built a cabin, cleared 
up a patch of "new groun'" by grubbing out the 
underbrush and "deadening" the big trees, and he 
had raised a crop of corn. Next year he would plant 
a portion of the land to cotton. He liked the region, 
but complained, " I have de country fever bad, an' I 
expec' I'll keep on havin' it until I git climantized." 



270 Highways and Byways of the South 

We passed a number of negro houses with their 
Httle clearings, and we met several groups of colored 
women and children returning from work in some 
white man's cotton patch, carrying their empty pick- 
ing-bags over their shoulders. One or two of the 
girls had found a few strips of bark in the wayside 
woods, and were taking the bark along, poised on 
their heads, for the cabin fires. 

My ox-cart ride came to an end presently, and I 
trudged on alone. By the time I reached the pine- 
linds the night shadows were beginning to thicken. 
1 had imagined I should find a village, but after some 
exploring I discovered there were only half a dozen 
houses in all, and these were mostly out of sight of 
each other, set hit or miss in the thin pine woods and 
linked together only by faint paths and byways. 
Where two roads met was a tiny church, but it stood 
as isolated and lonely amid the trees as did the houses. 
At one of these houses I found lodging — and how 
good it was to be welcomed out of the strange forest 
glooms into that friendly family circle to share its 
light and shelter and food ! 

Adjoining the house was a smaller building known 
as the lodge, and in that I spent the night. Its 
interior resembled a barn, for it was a single apartment 
with timbers exposed, and open above to the roof 
The walls were whitewashed, and the apartment was 
roughly furnished for a combination chamber and 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 



271 



schooh-oom. My sleep was intermittent. I did not 
mind the bkir of insect minstrelsy that filled the air, 
but 1 was disturbed by a cow lowing somewhere near, 
by the barking of dogs, by a horse stamping and snort- 
ing in the yard, by a man who late in the night went 
yo-ho-ing and whistling along the road and wakened 
all the woodland echoes, and by a mysterious ticking 
in the shingles of the roof — was it death watches ? 




The Plantation Porch 

Shortly after daylight a little negro boy walked in 
at my door — the doors were not made to lock — and 
announced, " Mr. Lemair say dey have breakfas' seven 
o'clock, sah." Then he stepped behind a calico screen 
and filled a bath-tub with water and departed. 



1'ji Highways and Byways of the South 

It still lacked something of the hour named when I 
came forth from the lodge, and I spent the intervening 
time rambling about the premises. My host's house 
was a broad, low building, painted white. A wide 
porch extended the full length of the south side. 
The home yard included several acres and was fenced 
with high palings. Far back, toward the rear of the 
yard was a little barn, a shed for the hens, and a negro 
cabin occupied by a family that did the work at the 
big house. 

The morning was sunny and quiet. The atmos- 
phere was dim with a gauzy mist, the grass and leaves 
wet and shining with dew. I could hear the clatter of a 
woodpecker, the cawing of crows, and the steady tinkle 
of a cow-bell. After breakfast one of the girls of the 
family mounted her horse and galloped to the post- 
office at the railway station for the mail ; and about 
the same time Mr. Lemair prepared to leave for his 
rice plantation on the Cooper River, seven miles dis- 
tant. The task of hitching his horse to a buggy fell 
to a negro boy, Hezekiah — " Hezekiah, de prophet 
from de Bible ; dat's his rael first name," his mother 
was wont to say when questioned on the subject. Mr. 
Lemair was soon on the road, and he would not return 
until dusk. In this manner he went back and forth 
every week day for six months. He had a mansion 
down by the river, but did not dare live in it between 
the dates of May lo and November lo on account 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 273 

of the fever. To show how genuine was the necessity 
for this annual flight from the lowlands, he related that 
a few years previous a Northern enthusiast had bought 
some thousands of acres in the malarial district and 
advertised his intention to establish a model New Eng- 
land community. The man was told the climate would 
prove fatal, but he utterly discredited the statement, 
built fourteen miles of railroad to connect with a main 
line, and began importing settlers and selling land at 
forty dollars an acre that was worth two dollars an acre. 
The boom was of short duration, the colonists sickened, 
many died, and the whole enterprise was abandoned. 

I spent the day in or near the pinelands. Not far 
from Mr. Lemair's was a twelve-acre cotton patch in 
one of the forest clearings, where a few negro girls were 
picking. Each of them had come furnished with a 
bag which she suspended from her shoulders to receive 
the cotton as she plucked it from the boll. Each picker 
had also a blanket or something of the sort spread in 
a convenient place, and on this from time to time was 
emptied the contents of the bag. When the day's 
work was done, the picker gathered the blanket up 
about the cotton and knotted the ends. Then all the 
parcels were taken in a cart or on the pickers' heads to 
the weighing place on the borders of the field and later 
to the barn. 

Not much was doing in the cotton patch on this par- 
ticular morning, for it was Saturday and colored help 

T 



274 Highways and Byways of the South 

is always difficult to get on that day. They have a 
habit ot reserving the final day of the week for work 
on their own little places. To one of these negro 
homes I presently wandered. Its surrovuidings were 
unusually neat. The hard-beaten earth in front of the 
house, and the path that led to the road, were swept 
very clean, and vines and shrubbery grew about the 
porch. A woman, a young girl, and a boy came to 
the door and greeted me. They were very intelligent, 
with a pleasing air of good breeding. The woman 
was anxious I should have no mistaken impression of 
them. " I was brought up in the house among 
quality," she explained, " and 1 learned manners and 
got some education. I'm not like mos' of the slavery 
negroes of my age. They don't know the letter A 
from the side of a barn ; but that's not their fault. 
Education wasn't much believed in for them, and if a 
slave was found with a book in his hands, the book 
was taken away and burned. 

" My ole man, he was a field-worker. He's a good 
man, but he's rough an' low down. I'm shore mar- 
ried to him though, and 1 got to make the bes' of a 
bad bargain. While he's workin' he won't never wear 
a hat, and yo' cain't hardly make him put on any 
clothes only those that 're patched. He look like a 
different man when he's dressed up, but he let his bes' 
clothes hang in the house all the time." 

The woman's feeling of aristocracy showed in her 







A Rice Mill 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 275 

work as well as in her talk. Certain plebeian tasks 
she would not do at all, and others she would not do 
in the customary way. She picked cotton in a basket, 
while every one else picked it in a bag, and she never 
would use the rice mill or the rice fanner. When the 
rice had to be pounded and cleaned, her daughter did 
it. This work was done at the rear of the house 
where there was a section of a log about three feet 
long with one end scooped out into a bowl-like hollow. 
Into this mortar or " rice mill " the rice was putj and 
then was crushed with a wooden pestle. That done, 
it was transferred to a shallow basket called the " rice 
fanner" and shaken free of hulls. The rice sheaves 
were stored in a barn about six feet square along with 
the cow peas and "blade fodder" — the last being 
bundles of corn leaves pulled off while green from 
the stalks standing in the field. Adjoining the barn 
was a pig-pen of rails that barely allowed the porker 
room to turn around, and beside the pig-pen was a 
cart of aboriginal pattern with wheels made of solid 
disks of wood sawed off the end of a large log. 

The family raised cotton and corn as their chief 
crops, but I noticed they also had considerable patches 
of sweet potatoes and peanuts. Each peanut vine 
spread out in a close network over a circle three feet 
in diameter. Some of the vines had been pulled and 
turned roots upward to allow the peanuts that clung to 
them to ripen and dry. Later these nuts would be 



276 Highways and Byways of the South 



--:^^M^i'mMm 




L'ii^gmg Peanuts 

picked off and those that remained in the ground dug. 
The crows like peanuts and had been making regular 
raids on the patch. " And while they were getting 
the peanuts," said the woman, " one ole fellow stay up 
in the top of that daid tree there, and, soon as he see 
anybody comin',' Awk ! ' he cry, and away they all go. 
But now we made this scarecrow yo' see hyar. We 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 277 

jus' set up a stake an' put a hat on top, an' to make 
the rest of the man, we fasten together these New York 
Sunday papers my son in Brooklyn send us ; an' since 
that the crows come an' set on that daid tree an' have 
their powwows, but they doan' dare come no nearer. 
Yo' see this stick out at one side ? That is his gun, 
and this piece of paper hung on it by a string is his 
shot-pouch. Yes, those Sunday papers from New 
York make the bes' scarecrow what ever there was." 

Ruthie and John, the woman's children, were bright 
and attractive, and they were gentle and polite, not 
only to me but to each other. Their mother had 
taught them to read and write. "I've tried my en- 
deavor to give them a start," said she, " and yo' can 
ask ary one yo' please about the capitals of the states, 
or to spell, or yo* can write a sum on the groun' an' 
see them do it." 

So I questioned them a little and I scratched a few 
figures in the dirt for them to add. They did the 
adding accurately though not quickly, and then I 
tried them with 3 x 24. They bent over this problem 
and studied on it a long time. They could multiply 
3x4 and 3x2, but were uncertain how to combine 
the results, yet they finally succeeded. 

The boy had an inventive tendency, and he had 
made a number of curious contrivances out of odds 
and ends he had gathered. One of them he called a 
" steam hoop," another " a street car." The latter 



278 Highways and Byways of the South 

was a small cart with a box fastened on it upside down 
and on top of the box was an old ink-bottle fitted with 
a discarded lamp-burner and filled with kerosene. He 
would light up evenings and run the thing about the 
yard. It was very crude, but for a boy of ten who 
had so little to do with, it was very creditable. 

While I was looking at the boy's handiwork, a hat- 
less and patched old man came in from the field, and I 
knew he must be the woman's husband. He sat down 
on the porch, and in a chat I had with him he gave me 
his impressions of freedom as compared with slavery. 

"It was like dis," he explained. "We wa'n't all 
equally please' to be made free. Yo' take de kerridge 
drivers an' house servants an' sech — dey had an easy 
time in slavery, an' dey was ve'y sorry to have free- 
dom break up deir kingdom. When dey free, dey 
have to go to work for a livin', an' be no better off 
dan de rest of us. But de people what work in de 
sun an' de rain in de cotton-fiel', dey were all glad ; 
an' yet I seen some good times in slavery. You could 
get thoo your day's task by two or th'ee o'clock, an' 
if you was smart, your master'd give you a piece er 
groun' to plant for yo'self We each had jus' so 
much rashions ev'y week, an' it was enough ; but now 
dar's a whole bunch er colored folks earn so little 
dey have to live off er scraps. I done so well I was 
made head hand ; but when I was seventeen, master 
wanted to whip me, an' I run away to de woods, an' 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 279 

I was in de woods six weeks. I'd come home nights 
to git food, an' some er de boys would bring me bread, 
so I had plenty to eat. 

" I made a camp way back in de swamp, an' I 
hadn't been gone long till one day a white man name 
er Cy Lucas fin' me while I was cookin' my dinner. 
I heard the bushes crackin', an' dar he was befo' I 
could git hid. 

" ' What you doin' hyar ? ' he say. 

" ' I run away,' says I ; an' I tell him how it was. 




Old-time i'lanuition Quarters 



I reckon I ought to kerry yo' home,' he says. 
"He was a neighbor of my people, an' him an' 
dem wa'n't ve'y good friends, an' I say, ' Dey're 



(C c 



2 8o Highways and Byways of the South 

always abusin' you, an' dey won't thank you for't 
If you do take me home.' 

" So he said, ' Well, doan' you steal nothin' off'n 
my plantation — take it off'n yo' own, an' I'll let 
you be.' 

" Anudder time two white men see me while I was 
walkin' in de swamp huntin' fo' a pig to steal, an' 
dey know me an' holler, 'You'll be ketched tereckly !' 

" I run, an' dey went off an' come back wid a dog 
an' a gun. Yo' ought to hear me cussin' den ; but 
I had a club, an' I was boun' to fight until I die. I 
squat behin' a fence, an' de dog come runnin' after 
me an' jump de fence, an' he no sooner done dat dan 
— blap ! — I hit him wid de club, an' de dog squeal 
an' git away from dar as fas' as he can, an' de men 
couldn't git dat dog to foller me any mo'. But dat 
didn't stop de men. Dey kep' after me until it got 
dark ; an' dey hadn't no light an' dey los' deirselves, 
an' was knockin' aroun' de swamp all night. I knowed 
de way though, an' I put out for camp an' went to 
sleep. My master, he offer twenty-five dollars reward 
for me, an' after a while as many as a dozen men 
come out an' make a hunt for me, an' I couldn't git 
away from 'em. Dey took me home an' I was whipped. 
Dat taught me a lesson. 1 never give no mo' trouble, 
an' if dey jus' praise me, I work myse'f to death. I 
reckon dar's some now dat a whippin' would do 'em 
good. Dey git as sassy as a cow fly widout it. But 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 281 

it's better dat de whippin's an' slavery are all gone. 
I like to think of what de Bible says, dat ' De day 
will come when ev'y tub shall set on its own bottom.' 
We're all free, an' dat day has come." 




A Live-oak draped with Moss 

Toward evening I returned to Mr. Lemair's, and 
the next morning I walked four miles to the nearest 
colored church, a rickety little building with a tiny 
cupola on top. As I approached the church I met 
a negro and asked when there was to be service. 

" Right after de baptizin', sah," said he. " De can- 
didate done gone along de road jus' now, an' I spec' 
dey baptize about ten or 'leven o'clock." 



282 Highways and Byways of the South 

It was after eleven already, so I hurried and pres- 
ently overtook the baptismal party waiting near some 
negro cabins for the minister. The candidate was 
a young woman dressed all in white, even to the 
turban on her head. She looked very solemn and 
scared. With her were two or three women relatives, 
carrying baskets and bundles. They said the baptiz- 
ing was to be right down the big road in the creek, 
and I went on. I could see a ragged, fluttering figure 
not far ahead — a barefooted negro in a linen duster. 
I followed him for a mile, and then came to the creek. 
It was spanned by a little wooden bridge, below which 
the stream deepened into the pool that was to be used 
for the day's ceremony. The negro had stopped on 
the bridge and taken off his duster, exposing a blue 
blouse and dilapidated trousers. He said he was "an 
old-style Baptist." " Th'ee year ago," he continued, 
" we had nine head baptize into our chu'ch, an' no mo' 
since till dis one to-day. We got about thirty or 
thirty-five head in de chu'ch in all, an' dey each pay 
ten cent a month to suppo't de preacher. De two 
deacons collect de money at de chu'ch ev'y Sunday. 
De preacher have th'ee chu'ches, an' when he ain' 
hyar, we have a local* preacher by name of Joe Saws. 
He ain' git nothin' fo' his preachin'." 

Now a little group was approaching from up the road, 
with a big, burly, white-robed preacher in advance ejacu- 
lating at intervals, " Glory be to God " and other similar 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 283 

sentiments. He had a bushy gray beard, and he wore 
spectacles poised on the tip of his nose and looked 
very patriarchal. In one hand he carried a Bible and 
hymn-book, in the other hand he held over his head 
an umbrella, for the sun shone clear and hot. The 
candidate also walked beneath an umbrella — a big 
brown umbrella with a black patch on it. 

" That's an ugly place," said the preacher, glancing 
-disapprovingly at the pool. 

The water in the stream was nearly stagnant, and its 
color was an earthy brown. The lofty green woods 
rose around and a light wind fluttered in the leafage. 
The ragged man who had been my companion on the 
bridge took a pole and waded into the pool, prodding 
here and there to show its depth, which was about 
three feet. Then he came out and stood at the water's 
edge bareheaded, with the pole in his hand. The 
others gathered on the bank where was a little grassy 
open space, and the men hung their hats on the bushes. 
The service began with a hymn sung with melodious 
fervor, and then followed a long, vociferous sermon. 
Meanwhile the group grew until, toward the close, 
fully thirty were present. The later arrivals all came 
running and sweating, fearful they would miss the cere- 
mony. Most of them collected around the preacher, 
others on the bridge. Some sat down as the sermon 
lengthened. 

The preacher told the story of John the Baptist, 



284 Highways and Byways of the South 

and he showed beyond shadow of doubt that immer- 
sion was the only true baptism, " and if yo' say that 
is not a fac', burn yo' Bibles ! " he shouted. " Christ 
was a Baptist," he went on, " and so we shall be judged 
by a Baptist, and we shall be welcomed by a Baptist 
in heaven — those of us that go there." 

Because the candidate was feminine it seemed ap- 
propriate that he should refer to the miracle of woman's 
creation. "Jewels," said he, " are found in the gar- 
bage and in the ice chest ; yes, diamonds are very often 
found in the rubbish, but not so Eve. She was the 
climax of God's work — the finest and most beautiful 
of all the things He had made. She was created, not 
from common dirt, but from a crooked rib taken out 
of the side of Adam. She was in no way ordinary. 
She was an extract, — like cosmetics or perfumery 
which you ladies know about, — something better and 
mo' concentrated than the usual. There's a difference 
in things. There's great, there's grand, and there's 
greatest. The creation of the world was great, the 
creation of Adam was grand, but the creation of Eve 
was greatest." 

After the sermon came a prayer, then some ques- 
tions to the candidate about her faith, the genuineness 
of her repentance and good intentions for the future, 
and lastly the company sang a verse of a hymn, "Jesus, 
my all, to heaven is gone," while the preacher de- 
scended to the pool. The man with the pole walked 




LoMi.NG Home krom the Post-office 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 285 

out and prodded around and stirred up the mud, and 
then helped the candidate down the bank and stood by 
to assist in the baptism. The preacher sHpped his fin- 
gers down inside of the candidate's collar and got a 
good grip, and things looked desperate. The hearts 
of the watchers on the bridge and bank beat faster and 
the interest was tense. With a few words of invocation 
the preacher, aided by the ragged blue-bloused man, 
ducked the unhappy candidate backward under the 
brown water. They quickly restored her to her feet, 
and she, dripping and gasping, rested her head on the 
broad breast of the preacher. A bed-quilt was handed 
down from the bank and wrapped about her, and she 
was assisted up out of the water, and several of the 
women conducted her away into the seclusion of the 
woods to change her attire. i " . 

One afternoon during my stay at Mr. Lemair's, I 
roamed as far as his plantation on the river. My 
route took me past the railway station, and I stopped 
to speak with the malaria-proof agent. He was on 
his house porch looking through a tattered Webster's 
Spelling-book. " 1 found it among some old papers 
and things this morning," said he. " I hadn't seen it 
for a good many years. That ' old blue-back ' learnt 
me most of what I know. It's the best book ever 
was made. All our great men were brought up on it. 
We used to have nothin' but that in the first years of 
our schoolin', an' we studied it thor'ly till we knowed 



286 Highways and Byways of the South 

it. Then we'd have a reader and other books ; but, 
now, dog gone if the children don't have readin' books 
befo' they learn their letters ; and I can't tell how 
many lessons they say in a day, but it's too many." 

I asked where the children of the region attended 
school, and he replied that the white people were too 
few and scattering to have a school, and the well-to-do 
hired a governess. The colored children went to 
school a little way down the road. The building was 
put up by a local negro society known as " The Spir- 
itual Union Association." This society, the like of 
which under one name or another was to be found in 
many communities, had over sixty members and in- 
cluded both men and women. They met regularly 
once a month on Sunday evening, and at every meet- 
ing each member paid in twenty-five cents. If a 
member was sick, he received a dollar and a half a 
week, and in case of death the relatives received ten 
dollars. 

I looked into the schoolhouse when I resumed my 
walk. It was about fourteen by sixteen feet, built of 
logs with a stick and clay chimney at one end. There 
were no desks inside, and the scholars sat on a double 
row of seats, each seat simply an unplaned board long 
enough to accommodate half a dozen children. A 
small table and two chairs completed the furnishings. 
Overhead was a ceiling of loose boards laid on some 
sagging joists. I could barely stand upright without 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 



287 



hitting the boards, and to pass beneath the joists I had 
to stoop. Into this dingy little room forty children 
crowded, and it was even more closely packed when the 
Spiritual Union Association met. 

The road to the river led through the woods for a 
large portion of the distance. The tall trees were 
many of them draped with moss, there was a multitude 
of sweet and delicate blossoms, autumn berries were 
abundant, and the foliage and tangled vines grew with 
a rankness unknown in the North. Nor does the 
North ever hear such concerts of thronging insects, all 
busy with their musical saws and files and castanets. 
Now and then I would meet one of those long-faced 
caricatures of a hog known as a razorback, or some 



p^^;r"^~-" ■■ "" 


>85§ 


1 




— 1 


i 


'19HHI 


IfaB 


jJPpR^cBPW^ jH^H 


^H 


'vj^M^^^gL 




1 


HtM-^<3n|^^^/^^^H^| 


m 






i 


^F 


^.-f^' 

''^::'% 



A Pause on the Road 



288 Highways and Byways of the South 

cattle with ears mutilated to indicate their ownership, 
and at intervals the road would be obstructed by a 
gate. 

Mr. Lemair's plantation home was a large and im- 
posing colonial mansion of brick, standing amid some 
enormous live-oaks, on a knoll that commanded a fine 
view of the broad marshlands along the river. On 
these marshes the rice was raised, and the planter had 
to keep up nine miles of levees. The land was 
ploughed with mules wearing broad shoes of wood on 
their hoofs to keep them from sinking into the mire. 
August was the harvest month, and then the rice-fields 
were thronged with workers who came from twenty 
miles around. The reaping was done with sickles, and 
the rice had to be carried by hand to the embankments 
where it was loaded on carts. Often the negroes had 
to work in mud up to their knees. They were con- 
sidered immune to malaria. To a white man such 
labor would soon have proved fatal. 

All day Mr. Lemair rides about in the saddle 
superintending the work on the big plantation. I did 
not see him while I was there, and toward evening I 
started on my return walk to the pinelands. I was 
directed to a shorter route than the one by which I 
had come. It was a forest byway — a narrow, weedy, 
little-used road with mud-holes here and there, and 
patches of corduroy in the wetter hollows. Once I 
made a mistake and went a mile -or two out of the 



The Cotton Patch in Harvest Time 289 

way, and by the time I was back on the right road the 
sun had set and the darkness of the woodland depths 
I had to traverse was getting dense. Low in the 
paling western sky hung the thin new moon, but its 
light was too faint to be of much help, and 1 had more 
and more difficulty in avoiding mud and pools, and I 
was confused by the branching paths and sideways. 
At last I came to a negro hut. In front of it was a 
fire under a kettle and over the kettle a colored woman 
was stooping, preparing the evening meal. " Yo' take 
the nex' turn to the right," she said in response to my 
questions about the route, " and go down across the 
water slush, and pretty soon yo'U see a light. That is 
Mr. Lemair's house." 

I did faithfully as she bade, took the turn, crossed a 
shallow stream, and saw shining through the tall tree 
trunks the planter's home light sending its cheering 
rays out into the black mysterious woods. 



XIII 



A QUEST FOR TAR 



MJ^CALIOO. a XI) 

5>5LAKKcji:oH(;i.: 

i!injli'TIN(J. AT 
WIlililAAIR AiVl) 






SOUTH CAR- 
OLINIAN who 

was one day en- 
lightening me on the hab- 
its of the countryside 
mentioned that the people 
of his state were often 
nicknamed "sandlappers." 
" They call us that," he 
explained, " because sand 
is so powerful plenty ; and 
up in North Carolina they 
call the folks ' tar-heels,' 
because they use' to make 
so much tar thar. Yo' 
couldn't step aroun' much 
without gettin' into some 
of the blame' stuff. I 
know how it was. 1 use' 
to live thar, an' I ricolect 
when I was a hobedehoy boy my ole man, jus' after 
dark one night, got his foot into a bucket o' tar that 

290 



fc-S.'.* 



An Advertisement 



A Quest for Tar 291 

happen' to be set near the house door. The weather 
was col' an' the tar was stiff, an' it took two men to 
pull that thar tar off'n the ole man's foot." 

" Where would I go to see tar-making now ? " I 
asked. 

" Wal, I cain't rightly tell. Thar ain't nigh as many 
pine trees as thar use' to be, an' coal tar has took the 
place of the ole-fashion pitch-pine tar. But if you'd 
find them makin' tar anywhar, it would be up aroun' 
Fayetteville." 

So 1 journeyed to Fayetteville, for I very much wished 
to see something of this primitive woodland industry, 
the fascination of which I had felt ever since I read 
about the process in my school geography. Fayette- 
ville was formerly a place of considerable importance. 
It is on the banks of the Cape Fear River at the head 
of steamboat navigation, and before the war it was the 
market town for all the northwestern section of the 
state. Several plank roads radiated from it, and an im- 
mense wagon trade came to the town on these roads 
from scores of miles about. The zenith of its prosper- 
ity was reached in war time. The arms that supplied 
the Confederacy were manufactured there ; and nine 
cotton mills were operating in or near the town when 
Sherman's army swept through the region in 1865. 
The Union forces left the mills and government works 
smoking ruins, and from this blow the place has never 
recovered. 



igi Highwiivs iiiul U\\vavs oi the South 

I woukl have hkod to step o{\ the train into some 
ot the traditional tar drippings, hut 1 couhl discern 
no hints o\ tar on the depot phittorni, nor indeed anv- 
Nvliere in tlie town. However, 1 was told that while 
b'avetteville itself no longer handled tar, 1 would not 
ha\e to L!;o nianv miles out into the woods to find the 
tar-hurning still L!;onig on, and I was reeoniniended 
to a place called Sptuit Springs that I could easily 
reach bv railroad. When I went thither, I found that 
the vernal suggestions of the name were deceptive. 
It was one of the forlornest spots I have seen in the 
South. As tor its springs, it has tew enough ot any 
kind and none that spout, though there is a legend 
that certain of them once had that habit. The village 
consisted ot a halt-dozen houses ot the poorest sort and 
a single rude, dingv store. To me the impression was 
whoUv dubious, and I was surprised to fuul tacked up 
on the store porch among other notices a lead-pencil 
announcement tVom the registrar o\ voters appointing 
a day for an otHcial visit to the communitv, in which 
he declared it was " the greatest pleasure o\ his lite to 
come to Spout Springs." What phenomenal polite- 



ness ! 



Near the station was a ^reat concourse o\ tar 
barrels, some tull and some emptv, and I concluded 
there was nothing more to do except to o;o a short way 
back in the woods to see the whole process of convert- 
ing pine trees into tar. I went into the store to get 



A <')uc.st for 'Jar 



293 



directions. The " sto'keeper," a puckered little man 
with a I'iping voice, said that just where I would find a 




JJipping J ar into a liarrci 

tar-kiln at that time he was uncertain, and he referred 
to some of the loiterers in the store. They talked the 



294 Highways and Byways of the South 

matter over and decided the nearest kiln was one being 
burned seven miles distant by a negro named Brinkley. 

It was already past midday and I tried to hire a 
team, but no team was to be had on short notice at 
Spout Springs, and 1 determined to walk. Fortu- 
nately a little darky boy of the Brinkley family chanced 
to be in the store, and my advisers turned me over to 
him as a guide. I surely would never have found the 
way alone. 

Beside the railroad adjoining the station were some 
mountainous piles of sawdust and the rotting fragments 
of a big sawmill. This mill had laid waste all the 
country around, and what had been a noble pine forest 
was now a brushy wilderness growing up to scrub-oak. 
The tall trees were gone, and the road that the boy 
and I travelled was wholly exposed to the hot sunshine. 
Charlie, my guide, spoke of this road as "the great big 
road." It had been a plank road years before, and the 
sto'keeper had told me that in his youth " hit run 
from a hundred mile up the kentry straight to Fayette- 
ville, and you'd see over one hundred and fifty wagons 
pass in a day." There were no indications that more 
than two or three teams a day dragged through its 
sands now. We followed it up and down the low hills 
for nearly four miles. At long intervals the scrub-oak 
gave way to a few fields composing a poor little farm. 
How any one could make a living in that remote forest 
country was a mystery. 



A Quest for Tar 295 

At length we turned off into the woodland desolation, 
continuing our way by minor roads and paths. Round 
about were stumps and scanty bushes and thin grasses. 
Here and there rose a charred tree trunk, and the 
ground was strewn with black fragments. The re- 
sponsibility for these conditions did not rest wholly 
with the sawmill. The doom of the region was pro- 
nounced when the turpentine gatherers came into the 
forest. In tapping a pine for turpentine the axemen 
cut two cuplike hollows — boxes they are called — on 
opposite sides of the tree near the base. Into these 
boxes the pitch drips from the wounds, and each wound 
is kept fresh for several years by constant clippings 
from the bark above the original cut until the gash 
extends nearly a dozen feet up the trunk and most of 
the resin in the tree has been drained away. Then 
comes the sawmill, and the trees are felled and con- 
verted into lumber. It is not very good lumber in 
the opinion of the natives. The vitality has been 
taken from it in getting the turpentine. As the Spout 
Springs sto'keeper expressed it : " The wood is half 
dead, and it won't last. You want to have the pitch 
in your boards and then they'll be with you." After 
the sawmill finishes, the tar burners cut the little pines 
that have been left, fires run through the ragged rem- 
nants of the forest, and the devastation looks as if it 
was complete for all time to come. The land is then 
almost valueless. Six or eight square miles of it around 



296 Highways and Byways of the South 

Spout Springs had recently been bought by an English- 
man — "jus' a young strap of a fellow" — who was 
going to turn it into a game preserve. He paid about 
a dollar an acre. 

The boy and I went on and on ; and though the 
paths we followed became more and more attenuated 
until they ceased altogether, my guide kept swinging 
along and never hesitated. Yet he confessed to a fear 
of snakes, and he pointed out a white flower he called 
snake-bite which he said he would rub on if one of the 
creatures bit him, and that would take out the poison. 
Charlie was a model of docility and cheerfulness, and 
was very good company. He was of course barefooted, 
and his garments were wonderfully patched both behind 
and before. He had no coat, but wore a vest of his 
father's that flapped loosely about him. 

Finally we saw smoke rising on ahead, and we passed 
over one more ridge and there on the slope just below 
was a burning kiln. No one was near, and only the 
crackle of the flames disturbed the silence. The kiln 
was a broad, heavy cairn, seemingly of dirt, for it is 
requisite that the fire shall be kept well smothered and 
only allowed to burn outwardly in one thin rim. To 
begin with, a shallow basin twenty feet across is dug 
with a slight slant from the edge to the centre — a 
kind of big frying-pan to receive the pine " light'ood." 
The wood is cut about ten feet long and split up small 
enough so that none of the sticks exceeds a thickness 



A Guest for Tar 



297 




The Burning Tar-kiln 

of three or four inches. It is piled horizontally in a 
circle, care being taken to preserve a gentle dip from 
the outside inward. When completed the pile is from 
eight to twelve feet high. A rough fence is now built 
around it, having a foot of space between the fencing 
and the lightwood, and this space is filled in with earth, 
and earth is thrown up to cover the top. In obtaining 
the dirt a great ragged ditch is excavated at the base of 
the kiln. When the fire is started, the tar flows to the 
centre of the kiln and thence runs out by an under- 
ground trough into a square hole dug for the purpose. 
From the hole it is dipped up into barrels. A fair- 
sized kiln will fill eight barrels. 



298 Highways and Byways of the South 

I had not been long in the vicinity of the Brinkley 
kiln when a young negro came up the hill through 
the woods. Two dogs were at his heels and he car- 
ried a gun. He was the tar burner, and after we had 
spoken together, he took his spade and began to heave 
dirt up on the kiln to smother the flames that were 
breaking forth too vigorously. The fire had to be 
watched day and night during the whole period of 
burning, which lasted about a week. The negro had 
a rude shack near by — an open-sided afi^air made of a 
few boards. He prepared his own meals and did his 
cooking over a little fire on the ground in front of 
his hut. 

When we started to return, the tar burner picked 
up his gun and went with us as far as the next hollow. 
This hollow was grown up to hardwood, and enough 
trees had been spared to make the spot quite attrac- 
tive. A brook meandered through the glen, and there 
were cool shadows and green grass and flowers. I 
was not disposed to hasten, and as I stood talking with 
the tar burner, I happened to ask him something 
about " Brer Rabbit." I repeated several incidents 
in the life of that celebrated character which I had 
heard elsewhere. The tales vary in difi^erent locali- 
ties, and my companion was soon relating his own 
versions of them. The boy, meanwhile, sat down on 
a fallen tree trunk, listening intently and never failing 
at the humorous points to explode with spontaneous 




The Tar-burner's Camp 



A Quest for Tar 299 

laughter and a display of white teeth. Three of the 
stories I give below. The first will recall to the 
reader the Uncle Remus story with the same plot, 
yet it is unlike that famous tale in many particulars, 
and it has a flavor peculiar to the narrator's own 
occupation. 

BRER wolf's little TAR MAN 

One time Brer Wolf tell Brer Rabbit he gwine dig 
a well, an' he say, " Brer Rabbit, yo' tu'n in an' he'p 
me dig dis yere well, an' den we share de water 
togedder." 

But Brer Rabbit say, " No, I doan' wan' to dig no 
well." 

" What yo' do fo' water den ? " Brer Wolf ask. 

" I get up in de mawnin' an' drink de jew ofi^ de 
grass," Brer Rabbit say. 

So Brer Wolf dig his well, an' Brer Rabbit drink 
de jew off de grass until dar come a time when dar 
wa'n't no jew. It was a ve'y dry spell an' de rain 
didn't fall an' kep' on not fallin' till mighty nigh all 
de springs an' branches an' cricks was plumb dried 
up, an' de creeturs couldn't hardly find water enough 
to keep from perishin'. 

Brer Wolf mo' lucky dan mos'. De water in his 
well git ve'y low, but it ain't never quite dry up. 
Den Brer Rabbit got to slippin' aroun' to Brer Wolf's 
ev'y night an' Brer Wolf find his water gone and gone 



300 Highways and Byways of the South 

— ev'y mornni' hit all drawn out. But he see Brer 
Rabbit's tracks aroun' his well, an' he study to fix a 
plan for to ketch him. So he think he make him up 
a liT tar man, an' he take some rags an' twis' an' tie 
'em up into de likeness er a li'T man, an' daub de 
whole over wid some er dis yere pine tar which is 
de stickinest stuff on de face er de yearth. He made 
de li'l' tar man. Brer Wolf did, an' den he set it up 
by de well an' hung de go'd on it. 

Dat night, jus' fo' day. Brer Rabbit come aroun' 
same as usual an' he see de li'l' man an' he stop an' 
say, " Good mawnin', Mr. Man." 

But de li'l' tar man doan' say nothin', an' Brer Rab- 
bit say again, " Good mawnin', Mr. Man." 

But de li'l' tar man doan' speak, an' Brer Rabbit, he 
say, " Give me de go'd, please suh." 

De li'l' tar man jus' stan' dar an' keep his mouth 
shet, an' Brer Rabbit shout, " I say, give me de go'd 
or I'll hit yo' tereckly." 

De H'l' tar man doan' 'spond, an' Brer Rabbit 
hauled away an' struck him side er his haid, an' Brer 
Rabbit's fist stuck. 

"Hoc! Yo' think yo' hoi' me?" Brer Rabbit 
say. " Yo' take keer ! I got anudder ba-ad hand 
yere," an' he struck de li'l' tar man wid dat, an' dat 
stuck. 

"What mean, holdin' me?" Brer Rabbit cry. 
" Yo' tu'n me loose or I hit yo' wid dis foot." 



A Quest for Tar 301 

Den he lose de use er one er his feet. " Lord ! 
what mean acthi' dis-away ? " he holler. " Yo' done 
got to do dif'rent, or I hit yo' wid my udder foot. 
Yo' better let go. I kill several men wid dat foot." 

Blip ! he hit, an' de foot stuck same like de udder. 
"Hey! yo' think yo' hoi' me?" says he. "I got a 
tail. Ef I hit yo' wid dat 'ar tail I cut yo' clean in two." 

De li'l' tar man helt fast an' doan' say nothin' ; an' 
Brer Rabbit git his tail stuck. " Lord, Lord ! " he 
say, " yo' de wors' man what ever I see. Tu'n me 
loose or I butt you wid my haid ; " an' he butted 
an' got his haid stuck, an' he make de mos' awful 
racket a-bitin', knockin', and kickin' till Brer Wolf 
come out in de mornin' an' found him dar. 

" Oh ! you de man what steal my water," Brer 
Wolf say. " I teach yo' a lesson, now. I gwine eat 
yo' up, Brer Rabbit ; but first I gwine give yo' de 
greates' whippin' yo' ever had in all yo' days." 

So Brer Wolf tie Brer Rabbit to a big tree an' go 
off in de woods for to cut some switches to beat him 
wid. He hadn't been gone mo' dan two minutes 
when Brer B'ar come along de road. He see 
Brer Rabbit tie to de tree, an' he say, " What de mat- 
ter. Brer Rabbit? What yo' doin' dar?" 

" I'm a-waitin' for somepin to eat," Brer Rabbit 
say. 

"What yo' gwine eat? " Brer B'ar ask. 

" De folks what tie me hyar say dey gwine make me 



302 Highways and Byways of the South 

eat a whole pig, two hams, an' ten loaves er bread," 
says Brer Rabbit. 

Brer B'ar was hungry, an' he say, " Dat about 
suit me. Brer Rabbit, but yo' too small for so much." 

" Dat de trouble," says Brer Rabbit, " an' if yo' 
wan' to do de eatin', yo' can take my place. Brer B'ar," 
says he. 

Brer B'ar reply he willin', an' he untie Brer Rabbit, 
an' den Brer Rabbit tie Brer B'ar to de tree an' went 
off home. Co'se Brer B'ar git de lickin' ; but Brer 
Rabbit ain' care. He always playin' de ole scratch 
wid de udder creeturs, an' he de smartes' er de whole 
lot. Brer Wolf, he de mos' prosperous, an' Brer 
Rabbit always sneakin' aroun' an' stealin' from him 
an' trickin' him. Time an' again he get right into 
Brer Wolf's kitchen when Brer Wolf step to de 
gvarden or de spring-house, an' he scoop de peas out'n 
de pot whar dey cookin' over de fire an' eat 'em an' 
den fill de pot up wid rocks. Brer Wolf, he forever 
sayin' he fix him, but he cain't never fix Brer Rabbit 
'case Brer Rabbit too smart a man fo' him. 



THE FROG, THE MOUSE, AND THE HAWK 

De frog an' de mouse, dey use' to be two good 
frien's ; an' ev'y day de frog come to Brer Mouse* 
house an' take dinner an' spen' long time. But Brer 
Mouse ain' never been to see Brer Frog; an' things 



A Quest for Tar 303 

went on dat-away till bimeby Brer Frog say, " Brer 
Mouse, I been comin' yere right along since I doan' 
know when, an' now I want yo' to go wid me to my 
house an' make me a visit." 

Brer Mouse say he be glad to go, " But, yo' live 
in de bottom er de crick, Brer Frog," says he. " How 
I gwine to git down dar ? " says he. 

" Oh, I'll take yo'," Brer Frog say, " Fll take yo'. 
All yo' need do is jus' to git a string an' tie one er 
yo' behime legs to one er mine, an' Fll take yo' 
straight dar," says Brer Frog, "an' we'll stay all day 
an' have dinner an' come back in de evenin'," says 
Brer Frog. 

Brer Mouse agree, an' he git a string an' dey walk 
along to de bank er de crick. Den Brer Mouse tie 
one er his behime legs to one er Brer Frog's behime 
legs, an' Brer Frog he jump into de crick. Dat pull 
Brer Mouse into de crick, too ; but de string was tie 
long an' de water wa'n' deep, an' when Brer Frog git 
to de bottom. Brer Mouse was a-swimmin' aroun' on 
de top. 

'Bout dat time Brer Hawk happen along, an' he 
see Brer Mouse a-swimmin', an' he flew down to fin' 
out what de matter. " I reckon dat mouse make me a 
good dinner," says Brer Hawk. 

So he pick up Brer Mouse, an' co'se he git Brer 
Frog at de udder end er de string what was hitch to 
Brer Mouse' leg. 



304 Highways and Byways of the South 

Brer Frog doan' like dat, an' he begin to holler: 
"Hoi' on, Brer Hawk! Hoi' on! Yo' let me go. 
Hit's Brer Mouse yo' want." 

But Brer Hawk say, " Dat all right, Brer Frog. 
Doan' waste yo' href. I likes mice, hut I likes frogs 
still better; "an' he kep' on a-flyin' an' carried 'em off 
into de woods an' dar he e't de both er 'em. 



HOW THE MUD-TURTLE CAME TO LIVE IN THE WATER 

One day, long, long time ago, de duck an' de turkle 
was a-talkin' togedder on de bank er de river ; an' 
dey git ve'y frien'ly, an' bimeby de duck say, " My 
dinner all ready 'cross de river. Brer Turkle, an' I 
be much please' if yo' come wid me an' dine, suh ! " 

An' de turkle say, " I bleedged to yo'. Brer Duck, 
but how I git over de river ? I cain't fly, needer can 
I swim ; " for in dem days de turkle always live on de 
Ian'. 

Den de Duck say : " Dat make no dif 'runce, Brer 
Turkle. Yo' jus' hoi' onto my feet an' I fly 'cross 
wid you." 

So de turkle say he will, an' he take hoi' an' de duck 
go flap, flap, takin' de turkle along wid him. But de 
duck, he ain't raelly want de turkle to his dinner, an* 
he wait till he git to de middle er de river, an' den he 
give hisse'f a shake an' drap de turkle splash into de 
water, an' de turkle done been in de water ever since. 



A Quest for Tar 



305 



" My mother say dey not tell dese stories so much 
now as in de ole times befo' de wah. In dose days 
de chillen thought dey was de best stories in de worl' 
an' reckoned 'em equal to Santa Claus an' Christmas. 
De chillen was always ready to listen, she say, an' yo' 
won't fin' any pusson, white or black, what been 
raised in de Souf but know all 'bout Brer Rabbit an' 
de udder creeturs." 




On a Trail 



When the little colored boy and I left the pleasant 
hollow where we had been lingering, listening to the 
stories of the tar-kiln burner, the afternoon was far 



3o6 Highways and Byways of the South 

spent and the air was growing cool. Our entertainer 
tramped away with his gun and dogs back to his tar 
works, and we went in the opposite direction across the 
woodland ruins to the main road. Shortly after we 
reached that sandy thoroughfare, the boy turned aside 
to go to his home and I continued on alone. Once I 
paused long enough to pull off a pocketful of fruit 
from the drooping branches of a persimmon tree. 
These trees were plentiful. They were rather slender 
and graceful and attained a height of about twenty 
feet. The ripe yellow fruit with its slight flush of red 
looked like small smooth tomatoes. Unless perfectly 
ripe the persimmons pucker the mouth, or, to use the 
Southern expression, " They are rough and tongue- 
tie you." But at their best they are sweet and luscious 
and melt in the mouth — all except the several big flat 
seeds that make up fully half their bulk. We hav^e no 
wild fruit in our Northern woods to compare with them. 
Some people make " persimmon puddin' " which was 
described to me as " splendid," but the commonest 
delicacy produced from the fruit is persimmon beer. 
If this beverage is as good as people say, it must be 
fit for the gods. 

I toiled on through the sand, munching my per- 
simmons, and the sun went down and the dusky 
evening broodeci over the scrubby forest. Just as 
the darkness was getting dense, I reached Spout 
Springs and sought one of the little houses beside the 




Ai iHE Back Door 



A Quest for Tar 307 

railroad track and engaged lodging of an elderly 
woman who was chewing a snufF stick. The man of 
the house was at the well in the back yard drawing up 
a pail of water on the creaking windlass. That done 
he went to find " the fattening hogs," and afterwards 
he sat down indoors to wait for the cows to return 
from their day's grazing in the woods. They always 
came, but they took their own time about it and the 
milking was often much belated. " Hit air plumb 
discouragin' the way those cows act," affirmed the 
man. "Sometime 1 think I'll git shet of cows and 
not raise no mo' while I stay hyar." 

" This ain't much of a place to live in since the 
sawmill got through," was the wife's comment, "an' 
we're gittin' ole. Hit's all I can do to walk about, 
and I don't go anywhar from home unless Tm 
hauled." 

The grizzled old man now rose stiffly and picked 
up his milk-pail. " 1 hear the cows," he said, and 
went out into the night. 

I was sitting in the kitchen, a rough shedlike room 
lighted by a dim kerosene lamp. In one corner was a 
little stove. The walls were lined with cupboards and 
shelves. Numerous parcels and pails were suspended 
from the rafters by strings to keep them from the rats 
and ants ; and to thwart this latter class of invaders 
the table legs were set in tin cans filled with water. 
" Them red ants are the meanest little things you ever 



3o8 Highways and Byways of the South 

met up with," declared my landlady, "Sometimes in 
the mornin' I find a regular path of 'em goin' and 
comin' cl'ar across the floor. They're so small I cain't 
see 'em unless thar's a right smart of 'em together." 

Several brooms were scattered about the kitchen, all 
of them of home manufacture. The biggest one was 
a "scouring broom" made of a five-foot stick of 
hickory. At one end the stick had been whittled 
down in shavings that were not quite severed from it, 
and then these hangings were tied about with a string 
to keep them in a bunch that could be used effec- 
tively. The rest of the stick was reduced to a con- 
venient-sized handle. Another broom was a shuck 
broom made of corn husks fastened to the end of a 
stick; and there were several grass brooms consisting 
simply of bunches of long, straight grass stems. The 
brooms were needed, for the floors were kept con- 
stantly gritty with sand tracked in from the turfless 
yard. 

Presently the man returned from milking and we 
had supper. For dessert I was introduced to a scup- 
pernong pie. It was the first grape pie I had ever 
eaten. " I made hit with hulls and all," said the house- 
wife, " and there's considerable sourness in the hulls, 
so yo' may like hit mo' sweeter." 

I did not become enamoured with the pie either as 
it was or " mo' sweeter," I liked the uncooked grapes 
better. They are a light green in color and have a 



A Quest for Tar 



309 



pleasant, mild flavor. My landlady was enthusiastic 
over the muscadines, a wild black grape that grows 




The Home Woodpile 

on the edges of swamps and old fields ; but It was as 
yet too early for them. "They are not sweet good 
until after the frost bites 'em," she explained. 

When we had finished supper and the dishes were 
cleared away, we went into the main part of the house. 



3IO Highways and Byways of the South 

Here a brisk open fire was burning, filling the room 
with cheery light. I drew a chair up to the hearth and 
picked off the cockle burrs and Spanish needles and 
beggar lice I had collected during my day's tramping, 
while my landlady brought out a bed-quilt and began 
working on it. " I'm makin' this fiDr my baby boy," 
said she. " He was married last June. You see hit's 
pleated all over. We call hit the pineapple pattern. 
Hit's right pretty, I think." 

The fire died down low fi-om time to time, and I 
could feel the night gloom and outer chill creeping 
into the room. Then some pine sticks were added, 
and the crackling flames leaped again and sent out 
their grateful heat and light. The man told me all 
about the mysteries of tar making, and he expressed 
great contempt for coal tar. It had few of the virtues 
of the pitchy product of the pine trees. This pine tar 
was medicinal, too. It was an excellent salve for a 
sore or wound, "and hit's powerful healthy to put a 
little tar in a cup and drink it with water." 

The family retired early, and it did not seem as if I 
had been asleep long before I heard the old man mov- 
ing about in the next room. " A chicken woke me 
a-squallin'," the man said when I came forth a little 
later, " an' I didn't know but one o' these hyar niggers 
workin' on the railroad was robbin' our hen-roost." 

The alarm had proved to be a false one, but as the 
darkness of night had begun to pale before the coming 



A Quest for Tar 



311 



day, it was nearly rising time anyway and the man 
started his morning's work — that is, he fed his stock, 
milked the cows, and hacked away for a while at a pile 
of charred pine and crooked sticks of black-jack in a 
corner of the yard. When I stepped outdoors, I found 
my landlady in the garden picking some peppers. " I 




LiarJcu Poppers 



312 Highways and Byways of the South 

don't know how I'd keep house without peppers," said 
she, caressing the green plants. Then she pointed out 
to me the patches of collards, sweet potatoes, string 
beans, or snaps as she called them, and a row of tall 
okra stalks growing beside the straight path that led 
down the centre of the garden. Finally she called my 
attention to a great, coarse, wide-branching weed near 
the fence. " That thar's jimson," she informed me, 
"and hit's about the worst weed pest we have." 

I went for a walk, after breakfast, and I tried to 
make up my mind to stay at Spout Springs a few days 
longer, but its desolation was too pronounced, and by 
evening 1 had returned to Fayetteville. 



XIV 



ROUND ABOUT OLD JAMESTOWN 




t; 



iHE entire re- 
gion in James- 
town's vicinity 
is rich in historic 
charm. Here occurred 
many stirring events 
in Colonial days; here, 
less than twenty miles 
apart, were three of 
the most notable 
towns of that period, 
Jamestown, Williams- 
burg, and Yorktown, 
and the district was a 
scene of conflict in two 
great wars. When I 
debated what place I 
should see first in this famous neighborhood, I decided 
it should be Yorktown, and one October morning I 
walked thither from the nearest railway station, a dis- 
tance of six miles. The road led across a monotonous, 

3^3 



.;in.;:j\vn Church 



314 Highways and Byways of the South 

half-wooded country that did not presage much attrac- 
tion for my journey's goal ; but I was happily dis- 
appointed. Yorktown is a village to fall in love with, 
— such a quaint, gentle old place, such venerable 
houses and great gnarled trees, and such a picturesque 
upheaval of grass-grown earthworks girding it about. 
Moreover it stands on a bluff gashed with frequent 
narrow ravines leading down to the shores of a broad 
inlet of the sea, and the views from these wild little 
glens, whether you look off across the water or back 
toward the village are unfailingly piquant and pleasing. 

Before the Revolution, Yorktown was the chief port 
of Virginia, and several vessels loaded with tobacco 
were every year despatched thence across the Atlantic. 
But for more than a century the population has been 
gradually dwindling until now it aggregates only two 
hundred and thirty eight, and three-fourths of this 
small number are negroes. 

On the farther edge of the village stands an impos- 
ing national monument commemorating the surrender 
of Cornwallis. The monument was finished com- 
paratively recently ; for though its erection was in pur- 
suance of a resolution of Congress adopted October 29, 
178 1, ten days after the surrender, actual work was not 
begun on it until about one hundred years later. The 
memorial is fenced in by rude wooden palings that are 
half broken away so that the wandering cattle feed at 
the very foot of the lofty marble column. Indeed, as 



Round about Old Jamestown 315 




Yorktovvn Street 

I walked around the shaft, I nearly fell over a calmly- 
ruminating cow lying in its shadow. Not far away is 
a fragment of an embankment that is pointed out as 
belonging to the time of the famous siege, and this is 
all that is left of the British fortifications. The other 
earthworks upheaving in great grassy ridges around 
the village belong to the Civil War. They are very 
peaceful now and are much overgrown with a low 
aromatic herb from which one's footfalls set free pun- 
gent and agreeable odors. 

The siege of Yorktown was not of long duration. 
The British were cooped up there scarcely two months, 
and the bonds were not at all tightly drawn until 



3i6 Highways and Byways of the South 

toward the end. The bombardment lasted only eight 
days, but it was at close quarters and wrought great 
havoc. All the town buildings were more or less 
damaged, and the house which was at first Cornwallis's 
headquarters was battered to pieces. He removed to 
the handsome brick Nelson mansion, still standing 
and still bearing the marks of the besiegers' cannon- 
balls. Tradition relates that, as the perils of the 
bombardment increased, this house, too, was aban- 
doned, and the commander sought a cave under the 
bluff. He had the cave lined with green baize, con- 
veyed to it a few necessities, and there he lived and 
held his councils with the other army officers. The 
appearance of the town after the surrender was one of 
dire confusion, the earth all uptorn by the plunging 
cannon-balls, rich furniture and costly books strewn 
about the streets, and bodies of men and carcasses of 
horses scattered in every direction. Evidently it must 
have been exceedingly difficult to find a spot where 
a person would be safe from the searching fire of the 
allied batteries and the French fleet. 

The surrender took place among the fields about a 
mile distant, and the locality is marked by a curious 
symbolic shaft erected by a patriotic private citizen. 
The shaft is of imported English brick cemented with 
German mortar, the former signifying the British and 
the latter the Hessian components of the captured 
army, and the whole is made emblematic of war by a 



Round about Old Jamestown 



317 



coat of red paint. It stands beside a little lane a few 
rods off the main road. Close by is a national ceme- 
tery where sleep some hundreds of Union soldiers who 
died on the battle-fields or in the camps of the vicinity. 
They have a parklike enclosure to themselves, with a 
massive wall of brick about it. Within the enclosure 




The Spot where Cornwallis surrendered 

the turf is like a lawn, the trees are kept trimmed, 
and the care is constant. The man in charge took 
great pride in the appearance of the cemetery, and he 
waxed very wroth in telling me of the depredations 
of certain beetles that clipped off twigs of his trees. 
He was a German who had never succeeded in fully 
mastering our language. " Dose bugs, dey haf pinchers 



3i8 Highways and Byways of the South 

and saws on deir heads," he explained, " and dey cut 
ofFHmbs big as my finger, and I haf all der time every 
day to keep pickin' dose branches up." 

We were standing just inside the gate near a pump 
that adjoined the caretaker's tidy stone cottage. The 
man stepped to the pump and filled a cup with water, 
but paused as he was conveying it to his mouth to 
say : " Some beoples not like to drink dis water. Dey 
fill der cup and dey look mit deir eyes at der graves 
so many here, and dey drow der water away. But 
dose old fellows not drouble der water none. Dey 
been bury too long, and dis water not come from der 
ground nohow. It come out of a cistern dat fill from 
der roof. Der taste would be better from der ground. 
One man near here has an artesian well — ah! dot is 
der water. It is more light as cork and you can drink 
of it two or dree gallons at der same time and it will 
not hurt you." 

On my way from Yorktown back to the railroad I 
was overtaken by a colored boy in a buggy driving a 
horse that looked as historic as anything I had seen 
that day. I was getting footsore and I begged a ride. 
The boy stopped his steed and I climbed in. " Go 
on, boss ! " said my driver, and we got into halting 
motion. " She go kind er twitchy because dere's one 
er dese yere hoss-flies bodderin' aroun',"~ he apolo- 
gized. " But I'll fix him ; " and he watched his oppor- 
tunity until the big fly lit on the horse's flank. Then 




The Beach at York.town 



Round about Old Jamestown 319 

the boy leaned over the dashboard and made a sudden 
slap and the fly was annihilated. 

The boy was from Yorktown and I asked him 
what the big shade trees were I had seen along the 
village street. He hesitated. " Yo' ask me too quick, 
boss," he said ; but after meditating he told me they 
were mulberries. 

" And what is this tree we are passing now ? " I 
inquired. 

He replied that it was a chinquapin. It looked a 
good deal like a birch, though the trunk was not so 
handsomely mottled, nor the limbs so sinuous. The 
ground beneath was sprinkled with burrs and nuts. 
These might have come off a chestnut tree, except 
that the burrs grew in larger and snugger clusters, and 
the nuts instead of being flat sided were little brown 
cones. The boy said the nuts were good to eat either 
raw or boiled, and that the children often strung them 
and used them for bracelets. 

Among the bushes in the roadside tangles I was 
surprised to see clumps of real English holly and furze 
and broom. My driver called the broom " Indian 
sage," and said it was medicinal. " Yo' can make a 
tea out of it dat's as good as ox gall for heart disease," 
he affirmed. 

The fields were turning sear and the autumn plough- 
ing was being done. The corn was cut — all of it that 
would be cut. Some farmers put the entire stalks up 



320 Highways and Byways of the South 

in shocks, but it was more customary to cut off the 
tops just above the ears, and stack these tops. After 
they had dried in the shock for about two weeks, they 




Stacking Cornstalks 

were carted to the barn, or perhaps were packed in a 
snug conical pile around a pole in the farmyard. The 



Round about Old Jamestown 321 

smaller farmers not only harvested the tops of the 
stalks, but they picked off the leaves on the portion 
of the stalks left standing. As soon as the picker had 
gathered an armful of the leaves, he tied them in a 
compact bunch which he hung on a stalk to cure, and 
in a few days the "blade fodder" was ready for stor- 
age. The leaves of sorghum, or " molasses corn " as 
my driver called it, were also saved for cattle feed, and 
the stalks stripped bare, leaving only the brown tufts 
of seed at the top. 

That night I stayed at the ancient town of Williams- 
burg, a most interesting place, built around a large, 
grassy square. Here and there a sedate colonial house 
has survived, and best of all is the old brick parish 
church with the graves of the early inhabitants cluster- 
ing under the pine trees in the churchyard. At the 
head of the Duke of Gloucester Street, the town's 
broad chief thoroughfare, is the historic William and 
Mary College, and at the other end of the street for- 
merly stood the House of Burgesses. 

Jamestown is eight miles distant. I was advised 
that the only way to get there was to " hire a rig," but 
I preferred to walk. It proved to be a very toilsome 
expedition. The weather of the previous evening had 
been threatening, and from the hotel piazza I had 
watched a thunderstorm that wandered along the hori- 
zon, and flashed and rumbled, and lifted a gloomv 
cloud mass well up toward the zenith. Later the wind 



322 Highways and Byways of the South 

rose and thrashed the trees, and rain fell in frequent 
showers all night. In the morning the sun gradually 
vanquished the clouds, but the mud and shallow pools 
of the roadway made walking far from easy. How- 
ever, there were long sandy stretches which were fairly 
firm. I followed the " main travelled road " ; for the 
route to Jamestown is kept well worn by the constant 
coming and going of visitors, and the other roads were 
mere trails by comparison. Jt was a lonely road wend- 
ing much of the way through dense woods, and it was 
full of wild and primitive suggestions. Now and then 
there were houses and poor little clearings. In several 
instances the houses were deserted. I stopped at 
one such and was sitting to rest on the curb of the 
dooryard well when I was startled to see a large snake 
looking up at me from halfway down the well. The 
snake had adjusted itself on the edge of a board that 
had lodged there, and apparently was a prisoner in 
some danger of slipping off the narrow perch into the 
water below, and with no chance of climbing up the 
perpendicular walls of the well. 

Jamestown is on an island of about sixteen hundred 
acres, three-fourths of which are arable. It is sep- 
arated from the mainland by a creek a few rods 
across that is spanned by a rude bridge. Along the 
shores of the creek are salt marshes overgrown with 
rank grasses and weeds, and beyond the marshes 
are pleasant open fields variegated with oak and pine 



Round about Old Jamestown 



r-3 



woodland. In a little grove at the west end of the 
island is what is left of old Jamestown — a few graves 
and a ruinous church tower close by the shore of the 




A Rider 



broad river James. Not far from the church are the 
heavy earthworks of a fort. The fort, however, was not 
erected by the pioneers, but was one of the outlying de- 
fences of Richmond, thrown up during the Civil War. 



324 Highways and Byways of the South 

The founders of Jamestown arrived on the Virginia 
shores in the month of May, after a rough winter voy- 
age that began December 19, 1606; and their senti- 
ments, as expressed by Captain John Smith, were that 
" heaven and earth never agreed better to frame a place 
for man's habitation." There were only one hundred 
and forty-four persons in the entire company, thirty- 
nine of whom were the sailors who manned the three 
vessels. About half the others were classed as " gentle- 
men," and the rest as tradesmen and mechanics. It is 
supposed that they landed at the lower end of James- 
town island, or peninsula as it was then, and there they 
built the first houses, but they moved within a few 
years to where the ruins of the town now are. The 
land as they found it was no doubt grown up to a great 
pine forest. Just why they chose to settle here is un- 
certain, unless because the narrow peninsula afforded 
some protection from savage foes. As a matter of fact, 
the newcomers were less intent on making homes in 
the wilderness than they were on finding gold. In- 
deed, the search for gold at first engaged the entire 
attention of many of them, and they even loaded one 
of their ships with ordinary earth under the mistaken 
impression that it contained the precious metal. Pres- 
ently their food gave out, the Indians harassed them, 
and they fell ill with fever. In four months over fifty 
of them had died, and but for Captain John Smith 
they would all have gone back to England. Captain 




ixm^rmmmani^mrm 



O^ 1 lU ROAP I loMt- 



Round jiboiit Old Jamestown 325 

Smith found his fellows a very troublesome responsi- 
bility. I<ew of them were industrious or energetic. 
Some were j);u-(lonc(i criniiniils. But Smith was a 
leader with ability to rule. I le punished idleness with 
starvation, and to cure j)rofane swearing he had a daily 
account kept of a man's oaths; and at night, as a pen- 
alty for each oath, he poured a can of cold water down 
the offender's sleeve. Caj-)tain Smith wrote to the cor- 
poration in England which had fitted out the colony, 
" When you send again, I entreat you rather send 
thirty carpenters, husbandmen, gardeners, fishermen, 
blacksmiths, and diggers-up of the roots, well provided, 
than a thousand of such as we have." 

With regard to the first buildings they erected, Smith 
says : " We did hang an awning (which is an old sail) 
to three or four trees, to shadow us from the sun ; our 
walls were rails of wood ; our seats unhewed trees, till 
we cut planks; our pulpit a bar of wood nailed to two 
neighboring trees. In foul weather we shifted into an 
old rotten tent, for we had few better. This was our 
church till we built a homely thing like a barn, set 
upon crochets, covered with rafts, sedge, and earth, as 
were also the walls. The best of our houses were of 
like curiosity, but, for the most part, far worse work- 
manship that could neither well defend wind nor rain." 

In 1638 a much more substantial church was built 
than the makeshifts that had preceded it. The walls 
were of brick brought across the Atlantic, and the 



J 26 Highways and Byways of the South 

tower of the ehurch has endured even to the present. 
The edifice itself continued in use until VVillianislniro;, 
on account of its superior hcalthtulncss, supplanted 
Jamestown as the capital ot the colon\' in 1699. This 
change was a ratal blow to Jamestown, and the place 
was soon almost abandoned. It never had been more 
than a village. We know that in 1625 there were 
twenty-two dwellings, a church, a store, three ware- 
houses, a guard-house, and, outside the town, two block- 
houses — one to guard the isthmus, the other to prevent 
the Indians trom swimming across the back water that 
separated the peninsula from the mainland. The 
population was then two hundred and twenty-one, and 
in the palmiest days of the village the inhabitants did 
not exceed three hundred. 

The brick church tower is the only survivinc; rem- 
nant of the old settlement that is at all conspicuous. 
It is eighteen feet square, and its massive walls are a 
yard thick. The church was not onlv a house of wor- 
ship but a fortress of defence, and the upper portion 
of the tower is pierced with loopholes — narrow slits 
outside, but widening inward so that guns could be 
aimed with freedom trom them, and yet expose the 
gunners very little. A rough barnlike structure has 
been built to cover and protect the foundations of the 
body ot the church, and a tew relics are displayed in- 
side. The floor of the church contains a number of 
graves, and other graves gather around outside with 



Round about OKI Jamestown 327 

massive tombstones a good deal broken by stress of 
time and weather, and by the vandal sightseers. Hut 
the sightseers will do their ghoulish work no more, for 
the place is now in the care of an historical association 
and has been surroundetl by a high wire-meshed fence 
suggesting at first glance that here is some vernal hen- 
yard. A custodian is at hand to admit visitors and 
answer questions, and volunteer such information and 
opinions as occur to him. 

" You remind me of another Massachusetts man," 
said he, glancing at my name after 1 had written it in 
the register. "He was hyar some years ago, and he 
was drunk when he come and drunker still when he 
went away. We were fixin' things jus' then and not 
allowin' any one inside the church. But he was bound 
he was goin' in. He said he'd come to write it up, 
and how could he write it uji, he said, if he didn't go 
in? I tol' him I didn't know — that was none of my 
business ; my business was to keep him out. And I 
kep' him out, and finally he went away; but I kind o' 
reckon he wrote it u\) all the same." 

The custodian pointed out various quaint epitaphs 
on the old stones, and called especial attention to this 
one : — 

Here lyeth 

William Sherwood 

A Great Sinner 

Waiting for a Joyful Resurrection. 



328 Highways and Byways of the South 

" That's the first sinner's grave I ever see," said my 
guide. " I've read a good many gravestones, but I've 
never found any but saints buried in other graves." 

When I finished looking at the church and its sur- 
roundings, the guide took me out of the grove to a 
grassy level which he affirmed was the " Courting 
Green " or" Kissing Meadow," where was auctioned in 
the year 16 19 the shipload of " respectable maidens for 
wives to the planters." He also pointed out the spot 
where were sold that same year the twenty " negars " 
brought thither by a Dutch man-of-war. This was 
the beginning of negro slavery in the United States. 

The river opposite Jamestown is three miles wide, 
and from upstream its course is a straight sweep of seven 
miles. Thus the current and the waves have easy oppor- 
tunity to eat into the alluvial banks of the island, and 
have already swallowed up a considerable portion of the 
land where stood the village. The water covers many 
remnants of the colonial hamlet, and when the current 
runs clear, the stones and bricks of the ancient house 
foundations and walls can be seen on the river bottom. 
The danger which the river threatens to old James- 
town has long been realized, and in 1901 the govern- 
ment completed a masonry breakwater that, so far as 
it goes, affords a lasting protection from the stealthy 
erosion of the current, and from the fierce waves that 
the winter storm-winds drive against the shores ; but 
there is need of as much more work to assure the safety 



Round about Old Jamestown 



329 



of the spot, and preserve the historic church tower and 
the graves around it to the multitudes who, in years to 
come, will wish to visit the site of the first permanent 
English settlement in America — the cradle of the 
nation. 




The James River opposite the Old Settlement 



XV 



THE NIGGERS 




A 



S soon as the 
traveller on 
his way south 
passes Washington the 
black man becomes a 
large and vital part of 
the population, and an 
ever present problem. 
You now find the in- 
terior of the better 
railway carriages pla- 
carded with the word 
WHITE, and the 
poorer ones with the 
word COLORED, 
and the negroes must 
keep entirely to the 
latter whether they wish to or not. What you see on 
the railroad is characteristic of the whole social structure 
of the Southern states. The negro occupies a posi- 
tion of servility and inferiority, and he is constantly 



A Dwelling 



The Niggers 331 

reminded of the fact by restrictions when travelHng, by 
discriminating laws, and by the habitual attitude of his 
white neighbors. The sentiment of the dominant 
race is clearly indicated by the universal use of the 
term "nigger" when a white person speaks of a black 
person. "Nigger" is recognized as opprobrious. It 
is like calling an Irishman a " paddy," or a farmer a 
"hayseed." It is equivalent to a kick, yet there is 
a superstition that it is not only the negro's due, but 
that it is necessary to administer these verbal kicks in 
order to avoid any possibility of his forgetting his in- 
feriority. Besides, it is affirmed that the negroes will 
not w^ork unless one is rough and vigorous with them. 
I was told that if I wanted a thing done I must say, 
" ' Come here, nigger ! ' Why, if you was to say, 
' Come here, Mr. Jones,' they wouldn't do nothin' for 
you." 

" A nigger is all right in his place," say the whites, 
but add emphatically that his place is very lowly 
and that he must not step out of it. If he fails to 
keep to " his place " of his own volition, they will go 
to any length of force or subterfuge to compel him to 
do so. 

One of the few times in the South when I heard a 
black person called " colored " was at a private house 
where I lodged in Florida. A little girl came in and 
said to her grandmother, " There's a colored lady out 
on the porch wants to speak to you." 



22^ Highways and Byways of the South 

" Colored lady ! " commented the grandmother, 
derisively. "Colored lady! Say 'that nigger'!" 

As she viewed things, her granddaughter had been 
using flmcy and inappropriate language. Probably 
the child had learned the nonsense from the Northern 
people who frequented the region in the winter. 

At a town where I stopped in an adjoining state 
there had been a great commotion some time before 
over a negro named Richard Foster. The negro 
wrote a polite letter to a local merchant from whom 
he was in the habit of buying supplies, requesting the 
merchant to call him " Mr. Foster " instead of simply 
" Dick." Foster was a man of intelligence and edu- 
cation, and he expressed himself with entire courtesy, 
but the merchant was virtuously indignant at the 
nigger's assumption that he or any other man with 
a black skin had a right to the prefix of Mr. The 
letter was passed around among the business men of 
the town, and swearing and heated denunciation were 
general. Such impudence could not be borne, and 
they got ready their guns. 

Meantime the colored man had learned that trouble 
was brewing, and he wrote another letter " twice as 
long as the first," apologizing for his indiscretion. 
" It was a beautiful letter," his persecutors acknowl- 
edged in relating the incident, but it did no good, and 
they continued their martial preparations to teach the 
nigger the racial proprieties. There is no knowing 




A Cotton Picker at his Cabin Well 



The Niggers 2^3 

how serious the consequences might have been had 
he not concluded it was wisest to slip away. Friends 
sent his wife and goods after him and that region 
knew him no more, and the threatened invasion of the 
white man's rights was squelched. 

" I know," said my informant, " Dick was a smart 
nigger, but he was no better than any other nigger. 
You Northern people don't understand this matter. 
If you would come down here and live six months, 
you'd see it just as we do." 

Their view is that a negro must constantly in word 
and action acknowledge the whites' superiority. He 
must be respectful to them on all occasions, while it is 
optional with them whether they shall be respectful in 
return. 

The negroes in expressing opinions about the whites 
were comparatively gentle and considerate. The sharp- 
est statement I heard was from a New York colored 
man who was visiting his old home near Savannah. 
He said that business in the South was almost entirely 
developed by Northern capital. " They don't know 
enough down hyar to make money or anything else. 
All they know how to do is to shoot niggers. They've 
had a bad feeling toward the colored people ever since 
this last civilized war between the Norf and the Souf. 
They don't like 'em and yit they cain't git along with- 
out 'em." 

The way in which this negro applied a mistaken 



334 Highways and Byways of the South 

adjective to the war is characteristic of the racial relish 
for impressive words and resounding sentences. They 
make a specialty of politeness on social occasions, and 
often affect very superior manners on the casual meet- 
ing of acquaintances. Sometimes in an exaltation of 
courtesy they look from above down on the whites, and 
you may hear them speak of " Dat colored lady what 
workin' for dat white woman," and " Dat colored gem- 
men what workin' for dat white man." 

In many sections of the South the blacks form the 
major part of the population, and it is only in the 
mountains that they are scarce. The mountaineers do 
not choose to have colored neighbors, and there is a 
more or less well-defined dead-line which the negro 
crosses to the uplands at his peril. " We bust mighty 
nigh every nigger that comes through hyar," they 
explained to me in the Great Smokies. 

This sort of strenuosity is due to the fact that in the 
mountains most of the inhabitants are accustomed to 
do their own work on their own places, and they prefer 
to have their region in all respects a white man's 
country. 

One effect of the prevalence of the negro in the 
South is to make it a land of cabins. To be sure the 
poor whites help materially to swell the number of 
humble dwellings of this class, but in the main they 
are the homes of the blacks. You see them scattered 
in groups or singly over the face of the country in the 



The Niggers ^2 5 

rural districts, and you see them huddling on the bor- 
ders of every city — shabby and unpainted, all about 
the same size, and most of them barren and depress- 
ing. The rustic cabins often gather near the " big 
house" just as they did before the war, sometimes 
flanking it with a line on either side, sometimes only 
on one side in a double row, sometimes built along the 
road that turns in to the plantation from the main 
highway. 

It is an aphorism that you can tell a " nigger's place " 
by its dirt and dilapidation. Poverty, ignorance, and 
lack of pride or ambition are general among the colored 
people. They simply exist, and the amenities of life 
are nearly altogether disregarded. However, those 
who own homes are very apt to make improvements 
and to take at least rudimentary care of their premises. 

The commonest type of the rustic cabin consists of 
one room within the main walls and a shed-room 
attachment. At one end of the house, outside, is a 
big chimney, sometimes of brick, sometimes of clay- 
daubed sticks laid up cob-house fashion. Log cabins 
are numerous and are still built, but they are not very 
lasting and need a good deal of repairing and are gradu- 
ally becoming obsolete. Double cabins are occasionally 
seen, though they are not always occupied by two 
families. Two households under the same roof are 
bound to quarrel, and the arrangement is not satisfac- 
tory. They quickly forget their disputes, and may be 



22^ Highways and Byways of the South 

on intimate terms within an hour of a genuine row, 
yet things are constantly occurring where one party or 
the other thinks its rights are infringed on. 

The main room of a negro cabin is certain to have 
an open fireplace, and the leaping flames on chilly 
evenings fill the apartment with cheerful light. Two 
beds and a trundle-bed are likely to be included in the 
room furnishings, and if these do not sufiice for sleep- 
ing accommodations, some of the family bunk on the 
floor. The ventilation is poor, the cabin is usually 
crowded, and it smells of eating and sleeping. The 
only advantage the negroes have over the dwellers in 
the worst tenements of our cities is that they spend 
most of their lives outside their hovels in the open 
fields. 

" A nigger always has a dog, a poor nigger has two, 
and a desperately poor nigger has half a dozen." 

Hounds and coon dogs are preferred, but any sort of 
a cur is acceptable. The dogs sleep in the house with 
the rest of the family, and they steal not a little of the 
household food. They are kicked and cufi^ed and 
abused, yet a dog prefers a colored master to a white 
one. 

The number of places owned by the blacks is com- 
paratively small, though slowly increasing. " Down 
in the district where I live," said a planter from 
southern Alabama with whom I became acquainted, 
" there are probably ten thousand niggers, and I don't 



The Niggers 337 

know more than a dozen that own their homes and 
have made any success in getting ahead. The niggers 
on my plantation work the land to shares, and that's 
the way generally. I furnish every family a house and 
twenty acres or so of land, and I furnish 'em tools and 
a mule. The mule and the nigger, you know, was made 
the same day, and they're just suited to each other. 
The mule is rough and so is the nigger. A nigger 
can't work a horse to advantage, but he'll control a 
mule better'n a white man can. 

" At the end of the season my tenants turn over 
the cotton they've raised to me to sell. They reckon 
I can get more for it than they can. When I've 
disposed of it, I go to the bank for the money. 
Sometimes the cashier '11 start to pass me out bills, and 
I'll say : ' No, no, that won't do. Give me silver.' 
The niggers have no use for bills, nor for gold. The 
paper don't seem like real money to 'em, and the 
gold looks too small. So I have to get 'em silver. 
What they don't use right away they bury or hide 
somewhere in their cabins. There ain't many niggers 
that'll trust a bank, and silver dollars are the things 
for hoarding because they won't burn or mould or get 
carried away by rats. The town niggers have the same 
/-dea — no paper money for them — and a contractor 
who employs a right smart of 'em has to get a whole 
cart-load of silver to settle with the help on pay- 
day." 



22^ Highways and Byways of the South 




An Inventor and his Street Car 



The renters require constant watching, urging, and 
instruction. Land let to them on the half-crop system 
is sure to deteriorate if they are left to do their own 
managing. Much of it is extremely light and sandy 
and washes badly unless the slopes are carefully ter- 
raced. To break the flow of water in rains, low, turfed 



The Niggers 339 

ridges are made at short intervals. The ridges must he 
perfectly horizontal, and they require frequent mending. 
If neglected, the fields get gashed with deep ravines 
and become sterile to the last degree ; but they 
improve rapidly with proper care and continuous fer- 
tilization. Commercial fertilizer is beginning to be a 
good deal used by the negroes. This is due to the 
efforts of the landowners, who are obliged to demon- 
strate its power before the blacks will believe in it, for 
the renters are ordinarily too ignorant to understand 
how a small quantity of such stuff can have any appre- 
ciable effect. 

In many sections it is still a common custom to do 
almost no fertilizing, but to keep taking crops off the 
fields until the dwindling harvests threaten to reach the 
vanishing point. Then pines are allowed to grow, and 
in the course of fifteen or twenty years the old fields 
become " new land," the pines are cut off, and the soil, 
with fertility somewhat restored, is again cultivated. 

A well-to-do Carolina planter who talked with me 
about the characteristics of the soil accounted for his 
own prosperity by saying that he kept many cattle and 
let his land rest frequently and regularly by turning it 
into pasturage. He had seven or eight thousand acres, 
yet he oversaw in detail all his renters' labor. They 
had to go to work promptly each day and keep faith- 
fully to their tasks, and they were obliged to plant and 
harvest at the proper time and in the right way. " I 



340 Highways and Byways of the South 

have to push 'em right hard," he declared. " Hit's 
the only way to get the boolk of 'em to do things as 
they ought to be done — these young niggers are so 
triflin' like." 

While the crops were growing, he furnished the 
negroes with supplies, and he did not allow them to 
buy so much of him but that when the crops were 
sold each family would have some money coming to 
it. " The niggers ain't contented if they have nothing 
to show for their year's labor," he explained, " and 
when that happens, they're likely to move off to some 
other place. But treat 'em as I do, and your niggers '11 
stay with you for years." 

As a rule the negroes move a good deal from plan- 
tation to plantation. They like to try a new place, 
thinking they may be better suited with a different land- 
lord or that they may find a farm which will produce 
more with less labor. Another reason for moving is 
their gregariousness. They prefer to dwell in colo- 
nies, and will rarely remain long on a small plantation, 
while on estates that have fifteen or twenty families 
the changes are few. 

The habit of living on futures is very common 
among the country negroes. A part of the prospec- 
tive crop belongs to the landlord for rent, and the bal- 
ance of it is mortgaged to supply the daily needs of 
the household. Sometimes the landlord handles the 
entire business, but oftener the mortgage goes to the 



The Niggers 341 

keeper of a general store, or to a bank which furnishes 
seven to fifteen dollars monthly until the crops are 
marketed. 

Interest is from one to two per cent a month, and 
what is bought at the stores on credit costs from one- 
third to one-half more than it would for cash. Mer- 
chants who lack capital to sell on long credits are said 
to do a " chinquapin business," and they look with 
envy on their more fortunate competitors with the big 
per cents rolling in. The storekeeper who gets a fore- 
handed grip on a nigger's crop leaves very little — 
"cleans him up," as the saying is. In fact, the negro 
is apt to think he is doing pretty well if at settlement 
he can pay his debts and come out even. I was 
informed in Florida that as a business proposition the 
crop-mortgage system was better than slavery. Some 
of the old-time plantations in the northwestern part 
of the state bring in more money now than they did 
before the war. The niggers work them just the 
same, and the white men get all the niggers make 
without the responsibility of caring for the black 
workers. A popular negro couplet sets forth the 
industrial situation thus : — 

•'Naught's a naught, figger's a figger — 
All for the white man and none for the nigger." 

Cotton is the negro's money crop. The minor 
products, such as corn, beans, cabbages, and potatoes, 



34^ Highways and Byways of the South 

are in the main consumed by the family, and if there 
is a surplus, it is exchanged for other needs at the 
stores. In the middle South, where wages are com- 
paratively low, negro men working out by the day get 
forty or fifty cents and the women somewhat less. 
They earn most in cotton-picking time when the pay 
is so much for every hundred pounds gathered. They 
often realize then from seventy-five cents to a dollar a 
day. "If they could earn that the year around, they'd 
get all the money there is in the country," was one 
man's comment. The picking continues from early in 
September till nearly November, with an aftermath of 
gleaning that is not completed for a month or two longer. 




Weighing the Day's Picking 



The Niggers 343 

As a whole the negro workers are docile and easily 
controlled, which is by no means always true of white 
workers/ In many respects employers prefer blacks 
to whites whether in general industry or in the house- 
hold. " If I have white help in my kitchen," said 
one woman, " I feel as if I'd got to work with 
them and be careful what I asked them to do ; but 
I have no hesitation in ordering a nigger just as I 
please, and never think of needing to do anything 
myself." 

A Charleston man said to me that he wished the 
negroes could all be deported, but such a wish is 
unusual. The ruling sentiment was voiced by a 
planter who declared : " Deport them and the South 
would be ruined. We must have their labor, and 
wherever the niggers go, I go too. If I had to work 
my land with whites, I'd quit. I couldn't manage or 
depend on them." 

Whatever antipathies the South has with regard to 
the negro, it still wants him as a worker. They are 
the bedrock of its economic life. " If to-day they 
were all to take ship for Africa, who would chop the 
wood to-morrow morning ? Who would make the 
fire, who cook the breakfast, who serve it, who would 
dress the baby, who would hitch up the horse, ply the 
hoe, and guide the plough?" In short, no organized 
movement of negroes out of the South will be per- 
mitted. In 1889, when a negro exodus was started 



344 Highways and Byways of the South 

to Kansas, many of those who began the journey 
were obHged to turn back because the boats and 
trains were stopped by armed men, and several 
Southern states at once passed laws calculated to 
seriously discourage any one who was inclined to in- 
duce emigration. 

With few exceptions the colored people are very 
easy-going, and even lazy. Their ideals are unde- 
veloped ; and animal comfort of a rude sort, a meagre 
outfit of cheap finery, and plenty of leisure are about 
all they care for. "They'll work till they get a little 
ahead and then stop and loaf," I was Informed. " A 
nigger is like a Chinaman. He can live on most 
nothing. He don't wear but few clothes, and the pay 
for one day's work will keep him a week. He don't 
worry any about how he's goln' to get along by and 
by. If he's got enough for the present, he's as happy 
as a dead pig in the sunshine. You know the words 
of the Bible — ' Suflicient unto the day is the evil 
thereof,' and ' Take no thought for the morrow.' 
Well, the niggers fulfil those sayings to the letter, 
dog gone If they don't ; and I ain't objecting very 
seriously to their improvidence either. It keeps up 
our supply of cheap labor." 

The most shining example of shiftlessness I encoun- 
tered was a young colored man lingering about a 
Tennessee railway station. He wore overalls, had a 
handkerchief knotted around his neck, and an old hat 



The Niggers 345 

slouched on the side of his head, and evidently 
intended to work sometime. Meanwhile he was 
smoking cigarettes and was getting rid of his money 
by patronizing a penny-in-the-slot weighing-machine. 
When I first noticed him, he was on the platform of 
the machine and had just parted with his penny. The 
weighing done, he sauntered across the room and 
gazed out of the window ; but he soon returned to 
the slot machine and considered it thoughtfully. 
" Boss," said he, turning to me, " I cain't read. 
Would yo' mind tellin' me what I weigh on dis 
yere r 

I was quite willing and he deposited a second penny, 
and after I told him the number of pounds, he resumed 
his loafing with evident satisfaction ; but presently a 
colored friend of his came in and he weighed himself 
a third time, and the friend stood by to report the 
result. He was still in the station when I left, and for 
aught I know he continued to invest in that fascinating 
machine until his money was exhausted. 

A reckless expenditure of cash in hand is a marked 
tendency of the race, and I recall it was mentioned to 
me in one village where I was stopping that, " If the 
nigger women see a white woman go past with a new- 
style dress on, they must get one just the same if they 
die for it. They're bound to be as like white folks as 
they can. Then there's watermelons. The niggers 
will go hungry to buy a watermelon. They can't 



34^ Highways and Byways of the South 

resist 'em, and they will buy 'em the very first of the 
season when they are most expensive." 

To the credit of the negroes it can be said that con- 
sidering their poverty and lack of thrift few have to be 
publicly supported. They assiduously avoid the poor- 
house and can usually supply their scanty needs to the 
very end. Of course a few have habits of saving, buy 
their places, and hide away a gradually growing accumu- 
lation of silver. If this sum amounts to as much as a 
hundred dollars, the lucky capitalist is regarded by his 
fellows as a millionnaire. In the towns many little 
stores are owned by negroes, the majority, perhaps, 
with only about a wheelbarrow load of stock, but 
others that in size and equipment are all that could be 
asked. The better ones are often patronized by whites 
as well as blacks. 

I was everywhere informed that the young negroes 
were less to be trusted than the older ones who started 
life as slaves. No doubt this is true of a portion of 
them, and naturally the servility the white man likes 
has become less common. The negro youth will no 
longer cheerfully spend half a day doing a white man's 
small jobs for a ham bone or a drink of whiskey. I 
have a vivid remembrance of the anger of a Virginian 
when a young colored woman did not accept with 
proper meekness some advice he gave her. She was 
at the back door of the hotel trying to sharpen a stick 
with an axe. "You blankety-blanked nigger," said 




Watering the Plants 



The Niggers 347 

he, " that's no way to do ! You'll cut your cussed 
hand off." 

Of course a girl with any spirit would rather cut 
her hand off than take advice so sulphurously flavored. 
But he could not comprehend her view, and he came 
in much perturbed- " That flabbergasted nigger '11 cut 
her hand off, sure ! " he declared, " and blamed if I 
don't hope she will ! You used to could tell a nigger 
something and they'd listen to you, but that time's gone 
by. She as much as said she knew more than I did, 
and I'd rather be called the meanest name there is than 
have a nigger tell me that." 

The negroes enter into their pleasures with zest and 
simple-hearted enjoyment. The young men take par- 
ticular delight in balls and " treatin' the ladies." Even- 
ing visiting is common, and employers say that " you 
can work a nigger hard all day and he'll be walking off 
afterwards to some of the other cabins and be out till 
midnight." It is this propensity which in part accounts 
for the numerous paths through fields and woodlands 
which network the country. Such paths are a sign of 
a pastoral, primitive people, and they never fail to be 
beautiful to the eyes and suggestive to the imagination. 
It is by these paths that the news travels, and you can 
depend on the negroes knowing promptly all that is 
going on within a radius of fifteen miles. 

Many negroes are addicted to petty gambling. A 
game called " craps," that is played with dice, is their 



348 Highways and Byways of the South 

favorite for the purpose. Some bhicks carry razors 
and brass knuckles, "and a heap of 'em have pistols, 
too," I was told. The possession of such articles of 
offence and defence is apt to make the individual thus 
armed swaggeringly brave, and sends many a negro to 
the penitentiary who would otherwise be free. The 
blacks contribute very largely to the jail population, 
and always far outnumber the whites in the chain-gangs. 
To me the chain-gangs of criminal laborers with their 
striped clothing and encumbered legs looked strangely 
mediaeval. Most of the prisoners, however, seemed 
well fed and hearty and not unhappy, and they cer- 
tainly appeared far less grim and dangerous than the 
guards armed with double-barrel guns who stood by 
watching them. 

The town negro is often a chronic loafer, thoroughly 
vicious and ready to commit any crime, while the country 
negro as a whole is declared to be law-abiding and truth- 
ful, though this statement is qualified with the comment 
that he has an inclination to commit small thefts. He 
appropriates an occasional bushel of corn and other 
farm produce when opportunity offers ; and house 
servants take minor articles of apparel that appeal to 
their love of dress. " It is nigger nature to steal that- 
away and I expect it," said one planter to me. " They 
don't usually take anything but what they can conceal, 
but sometimes they'll tote off a yearling or a shoat." 

A good many planters when they detect a negro 



The Niggers 



349 



stealing give him the choice between arrest and a 
strapping, and the culprit is pretty sure to choose the 
strapping. One man with whom I talked thought the 




Lcadnig 



fault was largely with the employers. " If you show 
a nigger that you are always suspecting him," said he, 
" and have no confidence in his honesty, he will most 



2^o Highways and Byways of the South 

likely be what you think he is ; while if you trusted 
him, he'd be all right." 

A grewsome sentiment is imparted to the South by 
the great number of places where some hastily judged 
victim has come to his death by shooting, hanging, or 
burning. The land is stained from end to end with 
blood shed by lawless hands. Unquestionably there 
are negroes who are to be feared, and they are a good 
deal of a nightmare to the Southern household. The 
whites all have guns in their houses ready for black 
depredators, and the fact that a man has no one at 
home but his wife and children is promptly accepted 
as a sufficient excuse for his not doing jury duty. Very 
little provocation is required from a negro to make a 
white man get out his gun, and bullets and lynch law 
are not by any means reserved for the more serious 
crimes. 

An incident, which I heard from both the whites 
and blacks concerned, and which illuminates the possi- 
bilities of the situation quite clearly, was this : A white 
evangelist was holding meetings at a colored church, 
and was staying at the house of a negro named Terry. 
He talked very pointedly about his hearers' sins, and 
in doing so chanced to raise the ire of one of the 
women, whose relations with a prominent local white 
man were a source of scandal. She reported the 
preacher's remarks to this white man, who also took 
offence, and then the youthful aristocracy of the place 



The Niggers 351 

united in charging that the evangelist was " stirring 
the niggers all up." They felt they must put a stop- 
to such doings, and they got out their guns, hired 
hacks, and went in impressive force and style to the 
home of the negro, Terry. He was absent, but the 
evangelist was found, and they ordered him to leave 
the town within half an hour. He tried to parley with 
them, whereat they became increasingly angry, and 
compelled him to start at once. Next they searched 
for Terry, and came across him talking with a white 
neighbor at the latter's gate. They felt he needed to 
be taught a lesson, and with their bullets laid him low, 
and, incidentally, wounded the white neighbor. While 
they were about it, they concluded they ought to give 
the community a thorough housecleaning, and decided 
they would get rid of Terry's son, who had a store in 
the town. That night they put a notice on the door 
of young Terry's place of business warning him to get 
out of the region. Young Terry was doing well with 
his store, and it was everything to him. He concluded 
to die in its defence, and he bought two revolvers and 
let it be known that, while he expected death, he pro- 
posed to do some shooting first. His courage had a 
salutary effect, and the lynchers decided, on cooler 
thought, to let him alone. 

The intolerance with which the negro is regarded is 
a natural outcome of the former relations of master and 
slave; but it is depressing to find that, in all the years 



2^2 Highways and Byways of the South 

since the war, so Httle progress has been made. Men 
of intelHgence will soberly argue with you that niggers 
are not wholly human, that they are more akin to beasts, 
and should be dealt with accordingly. " If anything 
would make me kill my children," declared one woman, 
" it would be the possibility that niggers might some- 
time eat at the same table and associate with them as 
equals. That's the way we feel about it, and you 
might as well root up that big tree in front of the 
house and stand it the other way up and expect it to 
grow as to think we can feel any different." 

I was solemnly assured that for a Southern white 
man to invite a negro, however notable and however 
accomplished, into his house as his guest, would mean 
that white man's social ruin. " It's like this," one 
informant remarked, "equality ain't safe. Now I've 
got a servant that was raised with me. He loves me 
and I love him. He'd do anything for me, and I've 
remembered him in my will. But if I was to take 
him into my family and treat him like a white man, 
he'd murder me in three days. They always do jus' 
thataway when you go to favoring 'em. 

" And yet the President of the United States has 
had a nigger to dine with him ! The South never got 
a worse shock than that. Up to then we'd thought 
a heap of Roosevelt down hyar. Why, we'd named 
all our dogs after him and members of his family; but 
we've changed those dogs' names since that dinner." 



The Niggers 353 

In one town I heard a tale of a colored army-officer 
who attempted to attend a white folks' church and sit 
in a pew among his white-skinned brethren. To them 
this was intolerable. They compelled him to get out, 
and " he barely escaped the worst scouring he ever 
had in his life." 

In another town the old-time residents had been 
sadly shocked by the undecorous way the Northern 
people who frequented the place had of consorting with 
certain educated negroes of the vicinity. They would 
ride together, and a white man had been seen to sit in 
the carriage and hold the horse while three " niggers " 
got out and went into the store to trade. " Why ! " 
said my informants, " a white woman and a nigger on 
a rainy day will even walk under the same umbrella." 
This was thought to be disgusting and disgraceful, and 
there was talk of passing a city ordinance making such 
things punishable by fines and imprisonment. 

I do not wish to infer that sympathy is entirely lack- 
ing between Southern whites and blacks. In most 
ways there is no friction, and as a rule the whites are 
considerate and kindly. They help generously any 
reputable negro in misfortune, they contribute as a 
matter of course when a subscription paper goes around 
for the benefit of the colored church, and they will tell 
you, " There's a heap o' good niggers," though taking 
care to add, " and there's a lot o' darn-fool niggers, 
too." They remember with gratitude that during the 



354 Highways and Byways of the South 

war the negroes behaved admirably. The white men 
were all in the army, and the women and children were 
left at home defenceless; yet nearly all the blacks 
stayed on the plantations and continued to do their ac- 
customed work. " Had they been whites, they would 
have had a carnival of murder and robbery and gone 
away," 

The most distressing experience the South has ever 
had with the blacks was directly after the war, when 
they were given the same rights to vote that the whites 
had, in spite of their ignorance and their long past of 
slavery. For a time there was chaos. "The niggers 
were turned loose just like a herd of cattle," an Ala^ 
bamian enlightened me. " There never was a more 
fatal mistake. Not one in a thousand knew beef from 
a side of sole leather. We've got an ole nigger still 
living in this town who come clost to getting into the 
United States Senate, and he's only a common brick 
mason. I bet he couldn't tell in three guesses how 
much seven and six is." 

The situation was intolerable, and the whites felt 
they must, by fair means or foul, disfranchise the blacks. 
One of the most charming gentlemen I met averred 
frankly that he had himself cast thirty ballots in one 
election. He acknowledged that this kind of fraud 
created a general lawless irresponsibility, but he would 
do the same thing again under the same circumstances. 

It is the common opinion of the whites that the 




A SyuiRREL IN Sight 



The Niggers 355 

negroes make their religion a fetich of barbaric super- 
stition. " They pretend to care a heap for it," I was 
old, " and no matter what sort of lives they lead, they 
join the chu'ch because then they reckon the devil 
cain't get them. The religion of most of 'em is about 
like that of the nigger at one of their conferences that 
rose and got up and said he reckoned he'd broken 
every one of the commandments since they met last, 
but thanked God he hadn't lost his faith. The preach- 
ers are terribly ignorant, and they look on the Bible 
just as we do on the history of the United States, and 
take everything in it perfectly literal. Often they got 
no morals worth mentioning, but that don't hinder 
their preaching if they can talk glib and got big voices. 
A nigger has to have some ginger in his religion. 
When I was young, I used to go to a nigger chu'ch 
once in a while out of curiosity, and the service wouldn't 
git fur along before the worshippers would be singin' 
and swayin'. Then they'd begin to rar' so't the most 
excited ones'd have to be held, and pretty soon the 
whole darn thing would get to shoutin'. When they 
called up the mourners, they'd jus' tear the house all 
to pieces. It was like a lot of horses kicking in a 
stable. You could hear 'em a mile. And I've seen 
their preacher git up on the pulpit on all fours and 
sway and pitch and whoop and holler like he was 
crazy ; but that's the kind of preaching the average 
ole country nigger enjoys. 



2S^ Highways and Byways of the South 

" To show you how ignorant the niggers are in 
their reHgion — there was a balloon ascension a while 
ago at Mobile, and a man went up dressed all in circus 
colors and spangles. The balloon came down a few 
miles out of the city near the cabin of a gray-haired 
nigger about eighty-nine years old. The nigger, he 
run out to the man, and seein' him so fancy dressed, 
he thought he'd come straight from heaven, and he 
says, ' Howdy, Mas'r Jesus, how's yo' pa ? ' " 

The opinion that religion possessed no charm for 
the negroes unless they can demonstrate their fervor 
in shouting and acrobatic earnestness finds plenty of 
confirmation in real life, yet I have attended services 
that were admirably decorous, and where the eloquent 
gDod sense of the preacher compared favorably with 
anything I heard from the pulpits of the whites. 

The character and learning of their ministers is 
doubtless quite open to criticism. They are often 
blind leaders of the blind, and the impulse which 
takes them into the pulpit is frequently not unlike 
that of the brother who got his "call" while he was at 
his farm work. Said he, " Dis cotton field's mighty 
hot, an' I believe, afore Gawd, I'm called to preach ! " 
yet this sort of thing is growing less common. 

The negro churches are on the village outskirts, or 
off still farther on some poor spot that has no value 
for other purposes. I heard of one colored congrega- 
tion which aspired to build on a desirable site in the 



The Niggers 



357 



middle of the village ; but the whites threatened that if 
that was done, the church would be burned within two 
days after it was finished, and the project was aban- 
doned. The country churches are nearly always dis- 




A Campmeeting Building 

mal little structures with leaky roofs, broken windows, 
uncertain foundations, and other marks of careless 
poverty. Many of the preachers have two or three 
churches in their charge at which they preach in turn. 
A pastor's entire salary is very likely not over one 
hundred dollars, and he usually has a small farm to 
help eke out a livelihood. 

" The niggers believe in schoolin'," I was told. 
" Yes, they're all anxious to get an education, and they 
have good memories and do first rate if they take hold 



^^S Highways and Byways of the South 

right ; hut it is apt to make 'em above workin'. The 
kind of school that teaches 'em trades is perhaps the 
best, but they soon get tired of the trade they've 
learned and try something else they think they'll like 
better. There's one thing, though, where they come 
out ahead o' the white man every time. They got a 
natural gift o' speech. You take a lot o' white men 
in a public meetin', and there ain't one in a dozen 
could stand up an' tell his name and how far he lived 
from town. But get five thousand niggers together, 
and you can call on any one of 'em to speak on any 
subject you please, and he'll jump right up and talk 
without thinkin'." 

The schools for whites and blacks are all separate. 
The presence of a single nigger in a white school would 
bring it to an end, and the possibility of the two races 
attending the same school is not to be imagined. The 
rancor which some of the Southern whites feel with 
regard to negro education is incomprehensible, as, for 
instance, that of an intelligent business man who said 
of an important colored school that the institution 
ought to be blown up with dynamite and the prin- 
cipal run out of the state. He declared he hoped 
to live to see the day when these virtuous objects 
would be accomplished, and the blacks given to 
understand that ignorance and plodding labor and 
complete white domination were their destiny for all 
time. 



The Niggers 



359 




A Negro Schoolhouse 

One story told for my benefit was that " There was 
a Georgia nigger who had been sent to the peniten- 
tiary, and the governor of the state give him his choice 
between bein' set free and goin' to Massachusetts, and 
he said he rather go back to the penitentiary." 

The joke perhaps travesties Massachusetts, yet our 
treatment of the negroes is scarcely angelic. We have 
the same feeling of superiority that exists in the South. 
This is characteristic of the Anglo-Saxon race in its 
relation with all other races, and very likely the North 
would discriminate against the blacks more if they were 
with us in greater numbers. Nor is the Southern an- 
tipathy without any reasonable foundation. A colored 



360 Highways and Byways of the South 

preacher recently declared : " The only way to get rid 
of the ' Jim Crow ' car is to get rid of the ' Jim Crow ' 
negro. If I could use two hundred thousand bars of 
soap on the unwashed negroes that travel on trains 
and hang around depots, 1 would solve the negro 
problem about twenty per cent." 

The wisest advisers of the blacks think they will 
gain far less by clamor for their rights than by work- 
ing quietly and steadily for better homes, for better 
and more general education, and for the ownership of 
property. By character and accomplishment they will 
surely win the respect of the whites and a worthy place 
in the country's civilization. To what development 
they may ultimately attain is uncertain. They have 
originality, inventiveness, and a real talent for music, 
but primarily they have strong bodies, and their im- 
mediate future is industrial. 

Social equality, the bugbear about which one hears 
so much in the South, does not exist between the 
whites and blacks in any section of the United 
States. An ignorant negro is not welcomed into a 
refined Northern family, and there are sure to be some 
reserves in the case of any negro, whatsoever his attain- 
ments. Racial differences, independent of color, keep 
the whites and blacks apart, for it is the racial tendency 
to flock together. These differences are of nature's 
making, and there is no discredit in recognizing them. 
Every race needs to be self-reliant, and the negroes 



The Niggers 



361 



must build up a worthy social life within their own 
ranks. Each success they gain in this direction de- 
serves applause, and it is an encouraging fact that caste 
is developing among them. They no longer associate 
indiscriminately. Those of the rougher, coarser class 
find barriers put up between them and their betters 
which can only be removed by their own improve- 
ment, and this has a decided moral uplift. 




A Farm Cart 



It is often claimed by Southern men that the negroes 
were better off as slaves than they are now, with regard 
to physical comfort and all essential needs, but this 
view finds no indorsement among the negroes them- 



362 Highways and Byways of the South 

selves ; and even the whites are all agreed that for the 
owners and the South itself slavery was a curse. "We 
never realized it," explained a Virginian, " but slavery 
was a great incubus. If the old conditions had con- 
tinued, business could never have developed, few rail- 
roads would have been built, and we'd still be riding 
around in our chariots drawn by eight horses, and 
thinking our manner of life was superior to any other 
on the face of the earth. We were ready to fight for 
slavery then, and we'd have kept on fighting till this 
day if our resources hadn't been totally exhausted 
sooner. But now, if slavery could be restored by vote, 
it wouldn't get one supporter in a thousand ! " 



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